


To The Mountains and Back

by Chelzbuckwheat



Category: Hat Films - Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, References to Depression, Scars, Warnings May Change, crisis intervention, national park service au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelzbuckwheat/pseuds/Chelzbuckwheat
Summary: Chris Trott left New Haven behind, in search for a different life. But the friends he makes along the way remind him that this is no running from himself.





	1. New to the Park

**Author's Note:**

> This is my baby, I'm hoping you'll enjoy it. If you have any questions, msg me! I will try to start each chapter with specific moments.

Whatever made him pick up this job eluded him. He could have gone and done security work anywhere, could have worked as a runner for a coroner, anything. But no - Park Ranger was what Christopher Trott signed off on. And for a small, lesser known Park nonetheless - at least Yellowstone would have carried more weight in an interview. But then again, Trott didn’t mind the idea of overtime: it was just part of the Law Enforcer lifestyle - whether on the force or in the forest. He silently thanked the years he had spent in Boy Scouts and the year on the squad for giving him a leg up in the interview - even if they were both torture at the time.

Trott checked his wristwatch once more - he would be 15 minutes early to meet with his supervisor: he sounded like a nice enough guy over the phone, though he did insist on meeting at the pub of the local town. Trott had heard the stereotype that rangers spend just as much time at the bar as they did on the job, and hoped he wouldn’t get roped into nights out. The idea of mixing alcohol and off-duty responsibilities never enticed him, even with his old squad. A pang of nostalgia strummed at Trott’s chest, missing the late nights from college: the ones that were fuzzed by loud bass and cold drinks. Trott pulled himself from his memories, the nag of guilt fresh in his mind.

“Stop that,” Trott grumbled to himself. “Gonna make yourself sad the first night of your new job.” Trott instead counted the steps he took between each telephone pole and scuffed up loose stones.

For it being 1100 on a Monday, the pub was busy. It was dimly lit near the bar, but the booths were lit with stained glass lights, one to each booth. There was a karaoke stage along the far wall - “Wednesday’s Wings, Wines, and Wails!” was written above it. Trott scanned the bar and found the man in grey and green sitting alone, watching the elevated tv. Taking a deep breath, Trott approached him.

“Mr. Brindley, sir?”

“Ah! My new ranger, yes! Come, sit with me.” The Park Supervisor reached out his hand and Trott shook it. Brindley clapped a warm hand on Trott’s arm and laughed as Trott slid onto the stool next to him. “I’m glad to see you didn’t have any trouble finding the place,” he purred, wrapping his fingers around the glass of his amber drink. The pub was one of the only commercial buildings along the main road. And Trott could guess that the town only thinned out from there.

“Just had to follow the locals,” Trott offered, looking over his shoulder to the other patrons. “They must have good food here.”

“Oh, it is simply the best,” the older man cooed. They small-talked for about a half hour, and Trott didn’t mind. Brindley was the first person Trott had seen since leaving Friday night, and it was nice to have conversation. Even if it was about Brindley’s military days. Brindley had an air of ease around him, and Trott wondered if it was the alcohol - with the smooth tone and slow speech. Brindley wasn’t slurring, but much like his glass, he seemed full of beer. “So Trott - is it okay if I call you Trott - are you ready to start your first day with the NPS?”

“Whenever you are Mr. Brindley.”

“Oh, no no no, please call me Lewis.” Lewis tossed back the last of his drink, and plucked the Stetton from the bar - it hid his unruly hair well. “Your first mission is to help me to my bike.” Trott couldn’t tell if he was joking.

 

When Trott snapped the belt latch and looked into the mirror, he felt out of place. He missed the blue of his police uniform, even if in this light the shirt was more grey than green. His holster was empty, as were the magazine sleeves, but the belt still felt heavy. And what was he going to do without a tie? The first button sat at the hollow of his throat, but it felt like it was wide open.

“Give it time,” he sighed, patting the pocket lapels down. He cupped the bowl of the Stetton and combed back the length of his hair. At least he wouldn’t have to buzz it all, he told himself. It didn’t look half bad either, just had to keep the sides faded.

“Color looks good on you,” Brindley stated when Trott walked back into the main lobby of the Park Clubhouse. Trott smiled politely at the compliment, but looked outside the large windows instead. Trott had only been to Twin Rivers Acres twice, once before he could walk, and then again as a Boy Scout. It was the trip about river microorganisms and Trott couldn’t stop looking at the speaker’s 3-fingered hand. But the view from the Clubhouse was beautiful despite that. The window faced north, and Trott could see the height of the mountains above the treeline. He knew the glistening lake settled just below the peaks, and come winter, he imagined it would be visible from the Clubhouse.

“One last thing Ranger.” Brindley placed the case on the desk, the clasps towards Trott. The case was simple, probably given to many rangers before him. Trott let the locks click open and he opened the box with both hands. The pistol was a standard issue, not too dissimilar from the force’s standard. Trott checked the chamber, assembled the firearm, turned on the safety, and loaded a magazine before holstering it. He felt more himself with a gun at his hip - something he thought he would never admit. His off-duty gun had saved his life though, he reminded himself as he clipped in the extra two magazines. A lesson he would never forget.

Brindley put his hand on Trott’s shoulder again, and Trott had to lift his head to meet the man’s eyes. “Welcome to your new life.” Trott forced a smiled, and nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Shall we head up to your cabin? Do you have anything to bring up?”

“I can get it after, it’s just a few boxes.”

“Have it your way - means we can take the UTV.” Brindley’s face was practically aglow: just a grown man and his toys, Trott mused. The Clubhouse was a giant L shape, the long sides facing the north and east, which were the most picturesque. Behind the building was the gated lot for the vehicles - two UTVs, three four-wheelers, and the National Park Service SUV, which surprisingly was true to the GTA modeling. They climbed into one of the UTVs, clicked the gate remote, and off they went.

Trott was glad Brindley let the conversation die down during the ride. He nodded and waved to hikers and campers that popped up on the way, but Trott let himself be on autopilot otherwise. This was a lot to take in - he had only left the force last week, and after leaving his apartment, happened to walk into a hotel which luckily had an open room during the last nice weekend of summer. Calling the landlord, his bank, the phone company, and all of the utility companies had taken most of his first afternoon free. He canceled the shared cards and shared bills, then ditched his old phone and all of his social media - with only his mom knowing he was leaving, no one would figure out where he left to; and more importantly wouldn’t be able to take him back. Trott absently picked the scar on his near his collarbone, but sat on his hands once it started to hurt.

“This is Lake Harmony, and that is Isabella Isle.” Lewis motioned to the wide lake that stretched for a little over 2 miles, and reached for over a mile back. In the slight bend of the lake sat the isle, a green oasis against the blue sparkling water and the grey stark cliff face behind it. Peddle boats and fishing boats floated on the rippling water. “This is the boating garage, where we have three boats, and scuba gear for the researchers and forensics. We do have a few fishing accidents every year, but most of the calls are for the cliff divers on the other side of the lake.” Lewis pointed at the different levels of rock formations that climbed the cliff. “The higher the kid, the higher they go - and the closer they get to the lakebed.” The joy from Brindley’s voice was gone, and his dark eyes didn’t linger on the cliff.

“Is there ever any trouble on the isle?”

“There is some, but ever since the state made it a historic site, it’s calmed down dramatically.” Lewis pointed to the beaches along the lake coast. “Most of our campers are here near the water. There are these grounds, and then more on the west banks. I’ll let you explore the west banks on your own. The main thing about the beaches are dog leash regulations and fire standards.”

The UTV roared to life, and they started their way along the banks. Most of the people were on the beach, kids splashing in the shallow beach and parents lounging on towels. Towards the center of the beach, Trott noticed three things above the waves, but only just - with a strong breeze, they would definitely lap at the bottom of the objects.

“Those are the newest installation from our Resident Artist. He’s a sculptor from the local college and focuses on recycling and all of that hippie stuff,” Lewis barked over the noise. “I’m sure you’ll see him around - he’s always running around finding stuff.” As they neared the installation, Trott realizes they were cartoonish fish, each one leaping over the waves, Though it was hard to see from here, it did look like wood woven together.

“Are the sculptures just near the campers?” Trott asked.

“Mostly, though I’ve heard stories of hidden pieces up near your cabin from when he first came on this summer.” Lewis nodded to his left as they rounded the bend in the road beyond the lake. “His cottage is the one on Smitten Pond, here up on the left.” Trott stared over the pond - there was a tiny white cottage shrouded with greenery and dim light despite the high sun.

“Smitten Pond?” Trott repeated, bemused. Lewis gave a loud laugh.

“Yeah, the General who founded this park was a filthy romantic. Isabella -” he motioned back towards the lake “- was his wife’s name, and they lived on the isle while their kids grew up. They got married in this small cottage - the General says that’s where he fell in love with her.” Trott smiled and looked back at the cottage. He could imagine it - the calm and quiet, the intimacy of a space like that. No wonder the artists live there. “There are more cabins and cottages up this road more. These are where most of the alcohol and drug citations happen.” Lewis steered the UTV off the paved road and onto a well-driven path that leads into the woods. “Your cabin is behind them, for your own convenience really. The fire tower and cottage up on the mountains just didn’t cut the night patrols so the General made a newer one.”

“Does someone live up in the mountains?” Lewis laughed merrily, and the glint in his eye was back.

“Yes, he’s been with us for forever. He’s the fire outlook on the off-seasons, but he’s second-in-command for the Fire Control squad. Real good that one.” The climb up the incline was easy with the UTV and Trott was thankful that he would be given one to traverse the park. It was much like the affinity he had fostered for the squad bike - parking tickets were so much easier when half the time wasn’t spent trying to park.

The A-Frame cabin only stood out among the trees because of the yellow door. It had a steep slated roof, a dark field stone facade, and a modest porch. Brindley pulled right up to the porch and climbed out, hand in his pocket. Trott followed suit, looking to the forest around him. The forest was thick enough to make the sunlight scatter among the trees, but if need be, he could wrangle the SUV up here. It was quiet now that the UTV wasn’t running - the only sound was the breeze mingling with the leaves and small chirping birds. Trott had never lived alone, let alone in the middle of a forest, but Trott would worry about that later. Brindley stood by the door, with presumably the keys to Trott’s cabin in his hand.

“You can have the honors.”

“You’re not going to carry me across the threshold?” Trott joked, taking the set of keys gently from his superior. The older man laughed loudly, clapping Trott on the back as he opened the door. It was more than Trott could have imagined from the outside. It was definitely a newer building, the furniture crisp and the windows clean. It was a small open plan first floor, a small tight staircase leading up to a loft with a high railing which led back into what Trott assumed would be the bedroom. The living room was front and center, with large skylights washing light into the room. The couch split the space in half, dividing the eatery from the small entertainment center and shelving of trinkets. It was a small breakfast nook attached to a small, but full kitchen. The stairs were carved out with shelves,  and under the loft was a full bath.

“You’ll have to take your laundry to the Clubhouse, and there isn’t a dishwasher but you have running water,” Brindley quickly flashed the tap to prove his point.

“This is pretty nice actually.” Brindley pulled back the curtain in the kitchen and pointed to a small shed behind the cabin.

“That is a shed of emergency supplies, including fuel for the UTV. Your backup gennie is out there too. There is a gun safe upstairs in the bedroom for your handgun and mags.” Brindley watched Trott, and Trott let him while he looked out the window. “Are you sure you’re okay bringing stuff up here by yourself?

“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Well, let’s go back to the Clubhouse - I have to give you the company card for your first week of groceries.”

 

Lewis gave Trott the rest of the day off to settle in, so Trott took his time at the grocery store. Lewis had told him the first week of groceries was on the NPS, but Trott only used the card for the essentials, and used cash for any of the excess. He swung by the hotel to grab all of his things, and drove to the Clubhouse to drop off the SUV and the card. Trott may have overestimated the bed of the UTV, and jigsawed a bunch of the bags together in hopes that they would anchor each other. It was only a ten minute ride, he told himself as he turned the ignition. Slowly at first, Trott pulled away from the Clubhouse, eyes glued to the bed of the UTV for any stragglers. After a few minutes, Trott instead focused on the road, looking for familiar landmarks for his turnoff.

“Heyy!! HEEEYY!! RANGER!” Trott looked in the rear-view and saw a man, bent over picking up several grocery bags worth of things. Cursing under his breath, Trott did a three point turn, cringing at how loud the reverse signal was, as if it was laughing at his misfortune. He turned off the engine and hopped off the UTV. The man finished gathering the last of the spilt remains, and stood up - Trott’s heart fluttered when he recognized the face. Ross Hornby, student of Three Points College who was currently plastered in regional news as the most controversial artist in the area.

“Oh my God.”

“It’s okay, it was just canned foods and some boxes of - Reese’s Puffs, nice.” Trott looked from the man’s face to his hands, and reached out for his groceries.

“Yeah, thanks. I thought I had stuffed them in there enough but I guess not.”

“I’m just glad I saw it happen - can’t deprive a guy of his Puffs,” he laughed, and Trott felt his neck get hot. He stiffly laughed along, too embarrassed to do anything else. “I’m sorry, I’m Ross Hornby.”

“Oh I know.” Trott didn’t expect the apprehension in Ross’ face. “I really like your work.” It was Ross’ turn to flush.

“Oh, well thanks. You never know who you’re gonna meet.”

“Chris Trott.” He reached out his grocery-free hand and Ross took it. “I’m guessing you’re the Resident Artist?”

“Was Lewis talking about me again?” Trott laughed as he stacked the bags again.

“Is that something he does often?” Ross let out a single laugh and raised his eyebrows. “It was all good if that makes it any better. Never said it was you though.”

“Yeah, people usually don’t with me. Homoerotic sculpture isn’t always something people bring up in this kind of town.” Trott quickly looked around, seeing if anyone else was on the trail. Trott coughed and busied himself by trying to fit the groceries into the UTV. Once they seemed like they wouldn’t fall, Trott turned back around.

“You need a ride back up to your cottage?”

“You don’t really have room for me Ranger,” Ross chuckled. Before Trott could continue to speak, Ross held up a hand. “It’s okay Ranger. I’ll see you around.”

“It’s okay I can mak -”

“I have to find some more supplies for my next piece. Thanks for the offer though.” Ross turned and walked away, and Trott knew he was going alone. The tall dark haired man broke into the foliage, and Trott let his head smack against the UTV frame. He didn’t stop the expletive, and it came out too loud in the quiet forest. Trott moved the pesky bags to the passenger seat, started the UTV, and tried to put as much dirt between him and the Resident Artist.

 

Trott wanted to crawl into bed the moment he put away all of his groceries, but he knew that was the residue of his conversation with Ross. The sun had about two more hours of life before the mountains would cast out the light. Once out of the Ranger get-up and back into civilian clothes, Trott strapped his boots back on, and forced one foot in front of the other under he couldn’t see his cabin anymore. It was louder now, with the crickets ringing. It was both comforting and eerie to think he could have been the only person in earshot. Part of him wanted to scream, given this past week, but the other part of him knew it wouldn’t really help and it would scare off the song-birds.

Instead, Trott focused on where he stepped, what he saw, and how he breathed until he stopped almost an hour later. He could hear the southern river from where he was, and he made that his goal. When he broke through the underbrush and saw the fast moving river, he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Getting his bearing, he realized he stood near the falls of the river - Last Stand, as it was called in the local lore. Trott had read in the police reports about several people jumping from the ledge that sat between where the river forked, hoping to parish amongst the shallow boulders and the rocky water. It was a tapered plateau of land with a small clearing from the shrubbery before it, and the edge extended a few feet beyond the cliff from centuries of erosion. There was an easily surpassed fence a good distance from the edge, but Trott figured it was more for liability than actually preventative measures. After all, it would be his job to talk someone down.

Trott stared at the precipice for a few minutes, wondering what it was like to stand at the edge - the wind rushing against you, and the water washing away inhibitions, the short moments between sad, scared, and then silent. Trott looked away before he could dwell on it much further, and instead walked upstream. He knew the bridge that crossed the northern fork was due south of his cabin and he wanted to be back before dark snuck up on him. 

It was 20:53 when Trott finally took off his hiking boots. He quickly showered and poured himself a bowl of his bland cereal, realizing he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He could have fallen asleep at the breakfast nook if he closed his eyes for long enough. Washing up, he took his radio, flashlight, and pistol up the narrow staircase. There was barely head room in the loft, but the tall window made up for it, Trott decided. He hugged the plump body pillow closer to his chest and tangled the blanket beneath his feet. Trott counted his breaths and fell asleep by 50.  


	2. The Resident Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott makes a hesitant friendship with the Artist-in-Residence, the queer kid with an eye for beautiful things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: mentions of past abuse, mentions of suicidal ideation

The sun broke through the trees in whispers, but it was enough to wake Trott up. Trott peeked at the clock pinned to the wall, and it read 17:53. The ranger groaned, but let himself lay there. What he thought would only be a cat nap turned into an hour and a half. Getting used to the quiet of the forest had kept Trott up recently, and he had been blinking sleep from his eyes all day. Trott contemplated just laying in bed, the blankets tangled around his legs. He was warm, comfortable, and still heavy with sleep - it wouldn’t be hard to do. But instead, Trott cast aside the blankets and sat up, feeling the low warm sun on his skin. The air was cool, and Trott tried to ignore the quiet around him. 

Trott looked down at his legs, the discolored bruises only faint now. His fingers found the tender spot on his ribs easily, but Trott pressed it once more. The sigh passed his lips and he stood, reaching to the ceiling. He was stiff from sleep, and it felt good to stretch in the sun. All of the hiking wasn’t making him sore like he thought it would, and he was grateful. It meant he could still escape into the tall trees to walk and count. The irony that Trott’s best place to hide was also the place that exposed his own insecurities made Trott laugh as he tied on his hiking boots. Lewis was on-call tonight, and Trott intended to be too tired to fight off sleep tonight. 

Trott knew he would only have a couple of hours of sunlight, so he settled for exploring the area behind his cabin. The trees around him was still bustling with sound - the crickets laying down a rhythm the rest of the woods flowed to. The breeze danced amongst the leaves far above Trott’s head, and he smiled at the small shimmy of branches. New Haven, though a small town, was more concrete than grass - the only greenery was the small parks peppered along malls or office buildings. His mom’s house sat at the corner of main street, and the closest park was still a twenty minute walk from home. Having the entire park a step beyond his front door was definitely something Trott enjoyed. 

A glint of light pulled the ranger from his reminiscing. When Trott looked, he could tell something was weird, but couldn’t put his thumb on it. Hopping over a log, the glint caught his eye again, and it silhouetted a tall figure. But Trott saw no one.

“Hello?” Trott sidestepped a thorny bush, trying to keep his eyes forward. He neared where he saw the light, and his breath caught in his throat as he crossed in front of a mirror. The last person he expected to see was himself. He let out a small swear, and approached the mirror. It was the outline of a bird in flight, larger in size. Trott traced the thin fishing line that suspended it from one of its lower branches. It must of been one of Ross’ installations, Trott reasoned. What a fickle medium to use, Trott tutted. But the piece before him was perfect. Trott thought about the resident artist, wondered what he was doing. He hadn’t seen Ross since earlier in the week, but Lewis told him he goes days without seeing Ross. Trott resented the part of him that hoped it would be different for him.

After another half hour of searching for more mirrors, Trott realized that each of the animals were made of different non-biodegradable materials, mostly clear or mirror-painted plastics and glass. The last of the mirrors was broken - it was at one point what looked to be a woodpecker, but now was in three parts. Trott picked up the pieces, and slipped them into his pocket. He wasn’t really looking for a reason to go find Ross, but now he had one. Checking his compass, he started in the direction for Smitten Pond.

Trott wished the cottage wasn’t on the far side of the pond. One look out the window, and Ross would know that he had company. Trott hadn’t thought this all of the way through - he was going to have to knock on the door. Trott counted the trees around the cottage instead of the steps it took to get to the porch.

“Hey, Ranger!” Trott turned around and saw the dark-haired artist rounding the far side of the pond. Trott waved back to the man, letting the smile reach his lips. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I was hiking and found your installation behind my cottage, and well -” Trott showed Ross the woodpecker pieces.

“I knew this bugger would be the first to go,” Ross muttered to himself, careful plucking the pieces from Trott’s hands. Trott had to keep himself from looking at Ross’ flushed cheeks and pink lips as he brushed pass to open the door. The ranger swallowed and hovered before the porch. “Come on in Ranger.”

“Oh, I just wanted -”

“It’ll only take a second to fix, and then we can go back and reinstall it.” Ross let the door open behind him as he disappeared in the apartment. Might as well, Trott reasoned, and shut the door behind him. The living room was bright with the evening sun shining through the front windows. It was homey inside, the walls littered with paintings and shelves covered with figurines. The couches looked plush, the furniture low and dark. There was a pass-through window into the kitchen, which looked pristine. 

“This is really nice,” Trott called out, trying to keep his feet planted on the ground. He quieted the voice in the back of his mind telling him to run and hide - Ross was a dangerous curveball in Trott’s life at the moment. It went against the resolve Trott had cemented around himself, the spell he chanted as he ran from himself. Ross could start the vibration that could shake apart the prison Trott built: the ranger wondered why he was so keen to sabotage the new life he started for himself.

“It’d be nicer if it had a workshop,” Ross offered as he rounded the corner with an armful of supplies. “Can you give me a hand?” Trott stepped forward, forgetting his post by the door. Ross rigged the pieces with clamps, looming over them with a glue pen. Trott rounded the dinner table, idling realizing it looked like Ross had never eaten on it. It must of been his makeshift studio, the piles of sketchbooks and boxes of different tools and supplies littered on the chairs and table. “When I glue the pieces together, can you just hold them in place with me? They just need to settle and then we can head out.” Trott answered with a hum, and Ross set to work. There was a focus in Ross’ eyes that Trott had only seen from his captain at the force. It was wholehearted interest, of being fully engaged in the issue at hand. Trott felt like he was invading the moment, until Ross pushed the two pieces together.

“Got it,” Trott offered quietly, and Trott fitted the pieces together. Ross ran a paper tool over the excess glue as it seeped onto the mirror face. The fractures would be noticeable up close, but probably not from where Trott found most of them. “Lewis said that your installments are usually tied to the environment. I’m guessing this one is anti-littering?” Ross smiled, but remained fixated on the third piece. It wasn’t until Ross and Trott stood there, holding the pieces together that Ross looked at Trott.

“It is. All the materials are things I found up at the cabins,” he said, nodding towards the private cabins. He tapped the woodpecker. “Someone busted out the window during some drug-induced trip, and I traded Sips beer for the glass.” Trott chuckled, looked at Ross’ reflection in the mirror. 

“You seemed to be very found of mirrors.” Trott said offhandedly, remembering Ross’ last gallery. Trott kicked himself mentally, but kept an even expression. 

“You went to my senior exhibit earlier this summer?”

“We better get this back into its spot before the sun sets,” Trott said instead, pointedly ignoring the artist’s gaze. “Was there a significance to the animals you used?” It was quiet for a few seconds, but Ross unclamped the woodpecker. It stayed together, and Ross motioned to the door.

“They’re all endangered animals -” he flashed the woodpecker “- there are four different woodpecker species endangered in good old USA.” Ross closed the front door after Trott. They shared small talk and some silence on the way back. There was about a half hour of light left when they secured the woodpecker to a tree trunk. Whenever Ross would try to bring up the summer gallery, Trott deflected the conversation. Ross must of caught on, because he instead talked about the Park’s artist-in-residency program.

“Since some of my other work is a bit too risque for the general public, I figured doing some environmentally-conscience installations would be good. I’m going to try to carry it through the entire year.”

“You’re here for the year?” Trott asked. Resident Artists for parks are usually summer contracts, but it wasn’t unheard of to extend it.

“Lewis wants to keep me on since I have marketing experience. He convinced his Uppers to bring me on with a monthly stipend for supplies, room, and board.” Ross shrugged, his hand on his neck.

“That’s good though right?” Ross laughed, but Trott felt the coldness in it.

“It’ll be great for the year,” Ross started, but he left it there. Trott let the silence fall between them as they walked back to the road. They broke through the foliage a couple minutes later. “Well, this is my stop.” Ross motioned to the pond on the other side of the road. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“It was fun, thanks for letting me help.” Ross smiled, and it was infectious.

“Well, I’ll see you later neighbor. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thanks Ross, good night.” Trott waited until Ross started to round the pond before he broke off the road and onto the path to his cabin. The ranger knew he was doomed to dream about woodpeckers and blue eyes.

\--

The first week blended one day into another. Next week would be the first real week, Trott kept telling himself. Lewis had spent at least half of his shift with him each day - to tell him about the history of the park, and give him the Ranger Tour: the spots on trails where Code W’s call from the most, the ledges that were wet in the snow, the parts of the mountains that have taken the most lives. There were rapids to the north-west of his cabin that quickly go from safe adventures to death traps, depending on the weather. They visited the northern river, and Trott could only see the tip of the firetower. It reached into the sky like a beacon, its white wood cabin and reinforced metal skeleton easily seen from the lake.

Trott hadn’t met the fire watcher, and truth be told he hadn’t met most of the other staff people. The only staff person he met was the groundskeeper, an older guy with a lazy smile and an aged baseball cap which Trott was sure wasn’t regulation. Trott could feel the loneliness rake at the back of his mind, clawing at the door he hid it behind. He missed his squad, despite never being close with them - the buzz of small talk was something he thought he would never miss. He wished he had taken up on visiting Ross again, but felt like he was already breaking rules he had set up for himself the day he left New Haven.

“Trott, the seasonal staff meeting is going to be at the Pub tonight,” Brindley told him, and Trott looked up from his paperwork.

“At 17:00?” Lewis laughed, but nodded.

“Yeah, at five. It’s in your civies, just bring your off-duty in case you get called out, yeah?”

“Sounds good, thank you.” Trott rubbed his eyes when Lewis left. Despite the loneliness, he had been dreading the staff meeting - all he wanted to do after his shifts was sleep. Not go into town and into the cramped bar. 

“It’s just an hour, stop being a baby.” Trott focused on the write-ups from the night prior - a “lost” son who ended up being in his paramore’s tent, a Code W in the backcountry hills who “didn’t have it in him” to walk the mile back to a trail, and a person who fainted at the Reptile Talk but didn’t need further medical attention. Trott had been on solo duty for only 20 hours and had a dozen write-ups - good thing Trott revelled in paperwork. Bringing existence, something so complex and detailed, into quantifiable statistics helped Trott unwind from a situation at work, both for the force and for the park. It is also what got him through four years of working as a cashier - counting and spatial reasoning took Trott to a neutral place where his mind figured itself out in the background. 

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, and Trott only had an hour to get to himself physically and mentally ready. He changed out of his uniform and stepped into nice jeans and a collared top. He slipped his concealed holster to the small of his back and snapped the hand radio to his belt. Gathering his dirty laundry into a hamper and tossing his Ranger jacket atop, he made his way to the UTV. For it being a Saturday, most of the park was empty. But that meant that he could make time to toss his laundry in the washer before going over to the Pub. That would at least give him an, albeit weak, excuse to leave relatively on time. 

It was ten until five when Trott left the Clubhouse, waving goodbye to the receptionist at the front desk. When he opened the door to his own jankity car, he spotted the dark haired artist walking up the park road.

“Hey, are you going to the meeting?” Ross looked up and pulled out his earbuds, and Trott wanted to swallow his own tongue. Trott closed the door and rounded the car as Ross looked at him expectantly. “Are you going to the meeting tonight?”

“Yeah, I got roped into it,” Ross replied with a small chuckle. 

“You wanna ride?” Ross eyed him evenly, and Trott mildly wished he would have feigned blindness thirty seconds ago. 

“Oh alright, let’s go quick before we’re late,” Ross remedied, and Trott exhaled. He rounded the car, and they climbed in. It was silent until Trott gave the ignition a twist and the car sputtered to life. “So like, what’s your deal?” Trott didn’t need to look at Ross to know he was staring at Trott; he kept his eyes on the road. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you go from telling me you dig my art to looking like a kicked puppy when I start talking about it.”

“Ah.”

“And now that we’re talking about it again, you’re quiet. You are worse than Katy Perry.” Trott shot Ross an exasperated look.

“I am not!” Ross held up his hands, gesturing to Trott. Trott mulled the words over and over in his head, his tongue too heavy to form words. He made himself countdown from ten. “Look, I’m not going to go into detail, but know I mean it when I like your art - the installation you did over the summer was ingenious and I wish I could have sent my entire hometown to the gallery.” Trott slacked in the driver seat, and loosened his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Yeah, a lot of people I talked to said the same thing,” Ross said carefully. There was an underlying question, Trott knew, but he let the question lie. “I was surprised at the lack of backlash honestly - I only had about ten mad attendees, and I talked with them one on one. Only got punched once, thankfully.”

“You got punched?”

“Trott,” Ross started, and Trott turned at his name. “When someone who hates himself for having gay thoughts is told they metaphorically fucked a guy from just walking through an art gallery, they take that shit to heart. I had hoped to meet up and talk about getting professional support, but I got a death threat and a solid left hook.”

“I’m sorry, Ross.”

“I’m sorry for him. He’ll never get to truly be himself, and it’s not his fault. He’s been told that being gay is so terrible and disgusting that he hates himself and strives to be someone he’s not in his heart. And he probably doesn’t realize it’s happened to him. He’ll never know it’s okay - okay to be yourself.” Trott eyed Ross and his change of tone, but Ross was looking out the window and playing with his sweatshirt cuffs.

They were quiet until Trott parked the car behind the Pub. He turned off the car, but didn’t open the door and it made Ross pause in getting out. “Don’t worry Trott, I won’t talk about my gay shit in the Pub.” Trott went to intercede, but Ross rolled his eyes with a smile and closed the car door behind him.

“Thank you Ross,” Trott blurted out as he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Trott muttered, but it earned him a laugh, one that was short and airy.

When they entered the Pub, it was somehow busier than it was on Sunday. Ross nodded over towards the karaoke side of the bar, and Trott could spot Lewis surrounded by people he didn’t know. There were seats at the end of the table, and Trott sat next to Ross.

“Did we beat Smith?” Ross asked, interjecting into the group conversation.

“It’s not hard to do,” a man with a fohawk and a healthy amount of facial hair jested. He wore modest glasses and had a crooked smile. He stuck out a hand for Trott.

“The name’s Mark Hulmes, you must be Chris Trott.” Ross snickered, but kept his eyes on the menu.

“Nice to meet you Mark.” He nodded towards Lewis who was talking to a small woman with her dark hair in two messy buns. “Hopefully he’s only been saying good things?”

“Oh Lewis only ever has good things to say about his staff,” Mark chuckled. “How’s being a ranger?”

“It’s good, different from what I was doing. What do you do Mark?”

“Oh Mark here is our Interpreter - if you ever need a good story, he’ll have it,” a voice said from behind Trott. Warm hands rested on his shoulders, and when Trott looked up, it was the groundskeeper, who only ever gave him the name Sips. “Hey kiddo, hey Rossy. Mark.”

“Hey, even Sips beat Smiffy!”

“He was right behind me, but we should definitely make a big deal about it,” Sips cooed as he squeezed in next to Lewis and Ross. Trott looked over his shoulder at the door just in time for a man with wild auburn hair to pull back the heavy door. The table around him erupted in noise, a bunch of “Late boy!”s and “Smith”s. The man had a wide smile as he neared the table. “You’re late buck-o!”

“Sips, I saw you run up to the door just to beat me!”

“I did no such thing!” The table laughed loudly as Smith sat between Trott and Mark. 

“Alright, alright gang, let’s get started now that we have been graced with Smith’s presence.”

“I live the farthest away!”

“Anyways.” Lewis motioned to Trott. “We have a new face at the table, so go around and introduce yourself and what you do at the Park so Trott knows who to complain to me about.”

“I’m Kim, I’m one of the Interpreters for the park. My focus is guides and historical tours,” the small woman with a pointed smile said, waving at Trott. 

“I’m Mark, I’m the other Interpreter and the social media manager for the park. I mostly do educational interpreting work.”

“I’m Smith, I live up in the fire watch tower. I get paid because Lewis thinks I’m pretty -” (“Oh shut up Smiffy”) “But no, I am usually the co-pilot for the Fire Management team in the summer, but I do fire watch during the off-season.”

“I’m Chris Trott, I’m the new Ranger.” There was a wave of “hello Chris”s and “hi Trott”s around the table.

“I’m Ross Hornby - (“Did he say Horny?”/”Oh my God Smith, shut up”) “and I’m the Artist-in-Residence until the end of next summer.”

“I’m Sips, I am the grounds maintenance person, or at least that’s what Lewis keeps me around for.”

“And I’m Lewis, your Park Supervisor. Now, time for drinks!”

Half of the table was several drinks or shots in by the time Trott finished his first soda. Kim and Trott were the only people not drinking, and Trott was thankful it wasn’t a karaoke night. It had been about 40 minutes, and Trott was done eating his dinner and ready to slip out of the meeting. Lewis had spent about 20 minutes going over protocol changes and updating everyone about goals for the fall season in terms of quotas. But the rest of the time had been shooting the shit for everyone. And all Trott had to do was last about another 20 minutes.

“So Trott.” Fuck. “What made you want to be a Ranger?” Smith asked beside him, leaning in close.

“I needed a change in scenery.” 

“From?” Trott looked at Smith, but tamed the bitch-face he knew he was sporting. Smith was just trying to get to know him, nothing wrong with being polite - Trott chalked it up the directness to the five shots. Trott took a drink from his glass before he answered.

“New Haven.”

“I know New Haven. I don’t blame you.” Smith took a drink from his beer and stuffed a couple of fries into his mouth. “Stho why Twin Riverths?”

“What is this, 20 questions?” Ross interjected from the other side of Trott. Trott let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and tried to focus on the warmth of Ross as he leaned around Trott.

“I’m just curious - we usually don’t get Rangers in the fall. They come in for summer and hit the road after that.”

“I wanted more job experience in hands-on law enforcement. In the force, fall is when things start to slow down,” Trott supplied. 

“Ah, a police officer, that’s kinky.” Trott practically spit his mouthful of soda back into the glass.

“Don’t worry about Smith, he’s all bark, no bite.”

“You don’t know that.” Trott eyed Smith suspiciously, but the auburn-haired man turned away from Ross and Trott, and started talking with Kim and Mark. Trott finished his soda and chewed on a few of the crushed ice cubes. He stared into the glass and wished he could fall in.

“He doesn’t have a filter, just part of his charm,” Sips said around his drink.

“He’s not as bad as he seems,” Ross comforted. “He’s the first friend I made back in June, Smith’s just, uh, affectionate when he drinks.”

“What am I?” Smith asked, turning away from the interpreters at the mention of his name.

“A filthy late boy, that’s what.”

“Ross, I saw you walk up to the door when I pulled in, you ain’t no Early Ester.”

“Early Ester?”

“You know what I’m trying to say. And without the Ranger here, you might have been late. Or maybe you were late because of him, heh?” Trott immediately stood up, and dug out his wallet to throw a twenty on the table. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Smith, why are you so dumb?”

“Trott, you’re leaving?” Lewis yelled across the table.

“I forgot about my laundry,” he said as he pushed back in his car. “Ross, do you have another ride?”

“Trott -”

“I don’t want you to have to leave early because I need to go.” Ross must have picked up on his desperation, and tapped Smith on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Smith can drop me off before he heads up the mountain.”

“Trott, you don’t have to -”

“Goodnight everyone.” Trott turned away before he could change his mind.

“Smithy what did you do?”

“Just reminded him of his laundry. Can’t let the jacket get wrinkled,” Ross chirped before Smith could say anything, and Trott was grateful for his new friend.   
  


After Trott tossed his things into the dryer, he wished the fiery-haired receptionist goodbye again and headed out to the lake, taking a four-wheeler instead of a UTV. Trott was glad he didn’t have his Stetton, so he could go as fast as he wanted. It was nice to have the wind too loud to think, especially over the engine. He knew it was dumb to leave the Pub, that it was just a harmless joke, but Trott couldn’t imagine being outed only after a week. At least Ross would understand, Trott told himself. He had to. Trott felt alone in this forest. The long hours of quiet at night played with his head.

Trott kicked off the four-wheeled when he arrived at the lake, and walked to the end of the boat dock. There was a single, solar powered overhead lamp, but it was still too light to flick on. Trott hung his legs over the edge of the pier, and thanked Whoever was listening that there wasn’t anyone around. Trott leaned heavily against the wooden post, and let his mind wander. He counted the waves as they marched in, until he forgot that he was supposed to be counting. 

He thought it would take longer to miss his old life. Trott never thought of himself as a socialite, more of someone who could survive without closeness. He never had friends growing up, his mom worked too much. It wasn’t until college that he started to harbor friendships, and he only thought of them as sunny-day friends. But they knew more about him than anyone else, he reasoned. Trott knew he was happier in college, when he didn’t have an imaginary girlfriend who sent him letters and care boxes. He didn’t have to pretend not to be with his now ex-boyfriend, if you could call it a relationship. College was before he was a victim of abuse - Trott had survived four years of partying crowds and touchy dance partners, and only with someone he thought he could trust was he actually in harm’s way.

Trott wanted to throw up realizing he missed Ashton. He threw his head back to look at the sherbert and blue sky, and counted to ten; he blinked away the threatening tears on the evens. Amidst all the bad days, (and there were many), there were good days - the soft touches, the laughs, the engagement. But they were harder to recall than the shouting, the neglect, the trips to the hospital. Trott hated the nights that he would lock him out on the balcony all night, when Trott escaped to breathe through his panics. He wanted to forget the nights he would pretend to be asleep, but Ashton would still touch him, trying to wake up him for a quickie. Trott itched the scar on his chest and counted the stars he could see until it was numb.  

“ _ Trott? _ ” Trott groaned at his handheld. “ _ It’s Ross, I stole Sips’ walkie. _ ” Trott held it for a few seconds, his thumb over the touch-to-speak button. “ _ I’m sorry you had to leave. _ ”

“It’s fine, go back to the meeting, over.”

“ _ We’re leaving soon. Can you give me a ride back? _ ” Trott didn’t know if he wanted company. He seemed to be bad with talking to everyone. “ _ Smith is gonna stay in town, too drunk to drive _ .” The sky darkened as he thought about it, but he pushed the button.

“I’ll be at the Clubhouse, over and out.”

“ _ Okay, see you soon. _ ” The light flickered on as Trott stood at the pier’s end, stomping on his athletic shoes. As much as he didn’t want to see anyone, he wanted to be alone even less; he had plenty of time to be alone later tonight. The four-wheeler revved on and Trott began his ride back to the Clubhouse. Sunlight struggled through the tree canopy, leaving dim shadows in his headlights. He waved politely at the passing cars, campers heading back to their RVs and tents at the lake. Trott took comfort knowing his peace would have ended even if Ross didn’t check in. At least now he has someone to share the ride back to his cabin.

Ross waited for him on the steps of the Clubhouse and Trott felt bad for not rushing back. Ross followed Trott as he parked the four-wheeler around back. Trott could smell the alcohol on Ross. 

“Hey,” Trott said dumbly. “You got back quick.”

“Yeah, Smith drove me.”

“I thought you said he was staying in town.”

“How else was I supposed to say “hey, I know you don’t want to see Smith, but I want to see you” on the default channel?” Trott hadn’t even thought of that, but he turned away from Ross. “I’m sorry about Smith,” Ross apologized as Trott walked to the back entrance. “He doesn’t know.”

“Nothing to know. Besides, I overreacted.” The door opened and Trott flicked on the light. He walked towards the staff wing, and lead Ross to the laundry room. Sadly, the dryer still had five minutes on it, so Trott wouldn’t be able to busy his hands with folding.

“Still, it must be hard to be in your situation.”

“I don’t have a situation.” Trott flinched at the tut Ross clicked near the door.

“Trott drop the shit. I’m a communication major, and you my friend are a silent movie of nonverbals.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Trott, you’re not even looking at me!” Trott recoiled from Ross' voice. Ross sighed, and sat down on a chair in the corner, distancing himself from Trott. “I’m sorry.” Trott let them stay in silence until the dryer gave a long beep. “I can walk home if you would rather be alone.”

“No,” Trott quickly said, and reached into the dryer. He felt better now that he had something to do, had an excuse not to look at Ross. “Is Smith going to make it home okay?” 

“He’s staying in one of the lake cabins. You probably passed him when you drove up.”

“Ah.” He pursed his lips, the feeling of dread fluttering in his stomach. “Probably thinks I’m a prick.”

“There’s more to Smith than you know. He does feel bad for upsetting you.” Trott went to speak but Ross cut him off. “And no one else cared that you left - they didn’t hear the comment and honestly thought you came to do your laundry. Which isn’t completely a lie.” Ross stood up again, but didn’t step closer to Trott. He couldn’t look at Ross, he was too hypervigilant at the moment. Trott focused on the feel of the different fabrics, and balanced the weight distribution on his feet. He tried to feel every hair that tickled at his temples and ears.

“What kind of artist goes for a comm major?” Ross huffed a laugh, but sat back down.

“The one who wants to have a secure income in three years.”

“You don’t think you will?” It was Trott’s turn to be left in silence. “We don’t have to -”

“I grew up in a financially insecure home, so part of me worries about not getting out of that.”

“Ross you don’t have to -”

“No, but I want to.” Trott reached in for the last of his laundry, and looked at Ross. He had his eyes closed and his long torso was stretched as he leaned against to the wall. “My dad was in and out of my life, leaving destruction wherever he went. I hated him.” Trott turned to lean against the table, looking at Ross head on. He had opened his eyes, but he looked at the ceiling and rested his hands on his neck.

“I’m sorry Ross.”

“It’s all in the past. He’s in jail now.”

“What did he do?” Ross looked at Trott and held his gaze. Trott felt his heart race, tapping Morse Code on his ribs. It was different from the other day with his art - his gaze was cold and piercing, his eyes truly ice.

“He doused our living room with gas and set it on fire. I had to carry my little sister out of the house, and my mom carried out our dog. He tried to stay in the house, but I dragged his ass out.”

“Oh my God, Ross - I don’t even - wow.” A silence settled between them, neither one taking the moment from the other. Trott’s mind was whirling around, jumping between Ashton, Smith, Ross, and his isolated little cabin. When Ross stood up, Trott let him walk up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand you don’t want to talk about whatever it is you are carrying around with you - and I don’t want to know unless you want me to know. But. Please, for all that is good, know you are not alone in this Trott.” Ross gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and turned to walk out of the room. “I’ll be at the UTV.” 

When Trott turned around to his laundry, he was crying. He looked up to the ceiling and let tears roll down his cheeks, and he hoped they weren’t landing on his jacket. Trott felt like he was walking the tightrope, on one side companionship and on the other safety. He knew the side he wanted, but it wasn’t the side he wanted to give into. He counted the different ceiling tiles and estimated how many square inches they were. 

On the ride home, the two talked more about the gallery Trott visited, talking more logistically than conceptually. Turns out, the silhouettes only took Ross a weekend to conceptualize, capture, and recreate. But, all of the theatre flats needed to direct the movement of the audience took over two weeks to make, and that was with help from the college’s theatre company. 

“Those damn things were the worst. I think I used over 30 of those fuckers? The college only had 15 on hand, but all of the custom work I needed for the last stretch was such a pain in the ass. I gave the enginerds free drinks if they helped us figure out how to make them safe to interact with.”

“I didn’t even think about that.”

“Yeah, me neither or else I would have not done the damn thing,” Ross laughed. “But what are you going to do with homoerotic set pieces? Just waste them?”

“Please tell me you did something with them afters?”

“The couple took them, and sold them as part of their sex work. They kept the threesome piece though.”

“Who was that third person anyways?” Trott looked over at Ross, finding him staring intensely at the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Ross, you didn’t!”

“Oh but I did,” he said around his hand as he laughed. “God that was a good photoshoot.” Ross looked at Trott and Trott had to look away, the train of thought too direct. “You can’t tell anyone, especially Smith. He would laugh himself to death.” Trott let himself laugh at that.

“Scout’s honor.”

“Shut up, you aren’t a Scout.”

“Of Troop 428, up until I was an Eagle Scout.” It was Ross’ turn to laugh. “Hey, I’m pretty sure that’s why I got this job, don’t laugh.”

“Because you helped an old person cross the road, and made friendship bracelets?” Trott shot the artist a sidelong glare.

“No because of my Wilderness Safety badge.”

“Oh well I feel much safer now, thank you Trott.”

“Anytime.”

“Ditto.” Trott let the comment settle within him. Trott wasn’t one for disclosure, definitely not to someone he had only known for a week, but he felt compelled to talk to Ross about everything - Ashton, fleeing New Haven, Ross’ art. He reckoned it was the guilt that he had been carrying with him since Ross’ gallery. Trott knew deep down that he had hoped that Ross would be there the day he went. He wanted someone to know about his true nature, not this persona he painted on every day. He hated living the dual-life of closeted and living with your fiance. Trott wanted to believe that if he went to the gallery, it would be the storm that broke the levi he laid against himself - but all it did was tell him he was worse than he thought. He was the audience Ross had wanted to reach: a queer who believed that he deserved everything that reigned against him because he was queer.

“You’re chugging those gears there, Trott.” Trott only acknowledged him with a noise. “Do you want to share with the class?”

“You sure are persistent.”

“And you sure are stubborn.”

“I have my reasons.”

“And so do I.” Trott looked over to Ross, whose eyes were blue even in the last minutes of daylight. “One day, you’ll tell me, and you’ll feel silly for waiting so long.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I did the same thing.”

“I’m sure you had your own reason.”

“I thought I was alone. I thought I was fitting in. Even if I hated myself, at least I wasn’t the ‘freak’.” Trott looked away from him, but Ross pressed on. “I tried so many times to be someone else, and so many times I tried to be no one. Have you ever been admitted into a psych ward Trott?” Ross leaned forward, and Trott glanced at him. Ross had tears rimming his eyes, but Trott couldn’t bring himself to look away. “Even on the third floor of that hospital, I thought about how I would be better off gone than gay. And you know what the nurse said to me when I told her that?”

“Ross.”

“‘Applesauce or pudding?’” Ross gave a short laugh. “She couldn’t give a flying fuck if I liked dick. All this time, I had told myself that no one would accept me, and I would lose everything - my mom would hate me, I’d embarrass my sister, my art would never sell. But none of those things happened when I came out. I make a living off being a professional gay.” Trott guided the UTV around the pond towards Ross’ cabin. Trott felt sick, happy, and scared all at once.

“I’m glad for you Ross, I really am.”

“Don’t you want to be glad for you?” Trott didn’t look at Ross.

“Who says I’m not?” Ross sighed, and the engine’s rumble filled the dimming night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add another chapter with the Controversial Summer art gallery because I like the idea of it!


	3. The Art Gallery: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Controversial Art Gallery of Ross's senior year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied sexual activities  
> Mention of internalized homophobia

Trott remembered walking through the gallery the Monday before it closed. It had taken him the better part of a month to drive the hour to the small college where Ross attended. The bored-looking freshman gave him a cheap pair of headphones and an audio guide. He donned the headphones and walked into the dimly light room - everything was painted black except a white symbol of the headphones, and a “1” on the floor, so Trott pressed the corresponding button.

“Good day, it’s Ross Hornby, and I made this exhibit. I wanted to thank everyone for coming and I hope you leave this installment being able to look at yourself a bit differently. For the best experience, when entering a new area, play the button when you first see the corresponding number, and continue on your way.” His voice was laced with mirth, Trott noted. “I do want to stress that this installation is intended for adults, and if you are under 18, I would suggest not doing the walk with your parents, or to walk quickly -” there was a pause for a stifled laugh - “thanks again, and enjoy, yeah?”

The path bent around the corner and the wall was plastered in 2s. A few seconds of silence buzzed in Trott’s ear as he rounded the corner. There was a cut-out silhouette of a couple, and the faint noise of slurping was in his ears. Trott realized the cut-outs were a couple, where there was very obviously a fellatio happening. The figure on its knees was a fluorescent pink, and the lucky bastard a blinding blue. Where Trott stood, at the end of the corridor, Trott could see that where the hand of the man ought to be was a mirror, and where the mouth of the women was, there was a phallic shaped mirror. When Trott neared the couple, the noises got louder and he could hear the heavy breathing and the loud wet noises. Trott noticed the round shape of the women’s butt, but looked quickly turned to continue on the tour.

3.

“Oh boy, that was pretty hot wasn’t it?” Ross' voice crackled through the headphones. “Who doesn’t like a nice blowie, yeah? Well this next one will be pretty good too.” His voice cut and as Trott turned another corner, there was another scene. There was a faint voice, muttering “oh yeahs” and “oh gods” while another voice only repeatedly breathed “yeah”. It was three silhouettes this time, two blue and a pink. The faint-pink figure was sitting on her heels, pleasuring the light-blues with her hands. The mirrors were instead on the pink’s hands, highlighting the fingers and fist of each hand. The lips were pursed, and it was obvious of what was to happen next. The voices were loud as he turned away from the three, and the slick sound of the hands echoed out as he rounded another corner.

“Just hit four now sunshine.” Trott did what he was told. “Oh you’re an obedient one,” Ross’ voice picked up. “Have you seen a four yet?” Trott looked around the passageway but the only number he saw was five. “Gotcha.” Feeling sheepish, Trott switched to 5. He had gotten caught up in the noises and Ross’ voice, and wasn’t paying attention, Trott had realized. Trott cleared his mind as the silence buzzed in his ears.

He rounded the corner and the sounds accosted him moments after he was in the room. It was a scene of two partners doing doggy, but it was so dark it was hard to distinguish their colors. The only thing that was easy to see was the mirror arm that wrapped around the hips of the bottom figure, presumably to pleasure the woman. Trott had noticed the woman’s arm hid her breasts, probably to keep it somewhat clean, he reasoned. He only heard the male’s voice, and the carnal sounds of flesh. It was only groans and heavy breathing again. Trott noticed that there was a small round mirror at the man’s groin, and Trott laughed at the subtleness, given the rest of the dramatics.

When he rounded the corner, he spotted a large 6. “Like all good things, this too must come to an end folks. But, for fun, you’re going to have to earn this last one. Just a small obstacle course for you, your reward awaits you.” Trott rolled his eyes with a smile, but hopped over the small walls, and ducked under the slanted lines of painted wood. He was faced with a painted 7 and pressed the button. There was a very faint male breathing, obviously in the the middle of having sex. When he ducked under the last obstacle, there was a wall that made him squeeze against the other wall and shimmy through; he looked to find a bent over figure of mirror was positioned at his crotch. It was cleared male, with a half-hard erection sprung from his pelvis. Trott swallowed hard and the noise abruptly cut.

“Internalized homophobia plagues not only the gay community, but many people who see themselves as heterosexual. It is defined as having negative social attitudes toward oneself based on their LGBTQIA status, leading to a devaluation of the self and can result in internal conflicts and poor self-regard. I’m sure none of you realized the figures were all male - oh yes they were. But since I painted them pink and blue, you automatically assigned them a gender - had I left them grey, you would have done the same, as you proved in the last one. Yeah, that was a guy, and that was his voice you listened to, but you just assumed the “girl” was a quiet one. What that is called is heteronormative perspective, and the gay community lives with that kind of erasure every day.” Trott looked around the room, which grew lighter as you moved through it. It was pictures of the models, a gay couple as the caption went on to explain.

“If you are angry, ask yourself why you’re mad. Because I tricked you? I made you get all hot and bothered to a soundtrack of a gay porno and some silhouettes? But sometimes sex is just about the stimulation of the body, your sexual identity isn’t always defined by your sexual behavior - and if you were more open-minded, you would actually find solace in that. Don’t worry, you don’t have to metaphorically fuck any more guys if you don’t want to. But don’t tell other people they can’t because things aren’t always what you imagine them to be. Thanks for coming, and attending my gallery.”


	4. Finding the Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott lets himself get roped into shenanigans with a certain Fire Watch and Artist.

Trott stood ankle deep in the flowing river, the water clear closer to the sandy banks. The ranger decided he liked the backcountry of the park - it gave the idea of openness without loneliness. The river was loud in the flatlands, the meadow around the northern river only dusted with shrubbery and tall grass. The sky was painted with clouds, but the sun was warm on the back of Trott’s neck. He had promised Lewis to spend his Wednesday off outside and not locked in his cabin. Lewis had threatened to turn off the water and power if he found the ranger lurking, and Trott didn’t want to chance it.

The water was cool as it ran over his feet, and Trott decided it was hard to be miserable here. Trott had been avoiding the Clubhouse and main paths since the meeting. It was close to a week that he had not seen anyone other than Lewis, and he was thankful. He chalked up Ross’ brevity to the drinks at the Pub, but was hesitant to find out. The talk with Ross had rattled something in Trott, and Trott was worried that it was the beginning of the trumbles that would bring down his conviction. He was honestly more worried about how neutral he felt about it. 

“Trott!” The ranger turned at his name, spotting the auburn-haired man riding his four-wheeler along the treeline. Despite himself, he waved at the fire watch. Trott wasn’t one for grudges, but the night of the meeting had left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Even if Smith hadn’t intended it, he played a big part in the bitter. Looking away as Smith drove closer, Trott took in a few breaths, and focused on the texture of the sand under his feet.

“Nice day isn’t it?” Trott started, hoping to keep the conversation generic. The engine had shut off, but Trott didn’t hear Smith approach him. The ranger glanced over, but Smith was staring up at the sky, his hands drumming his legs. He was in civies, his gym shorts and maroon tee looking well-worn. His hair was wind whipped, but Smith flattened it as he ran his fingers through it.

“I’m really sorry about what I said at the meeting.” Trott turned away, reminding himself to breathe. “I know I can get annoying when I drink.”

“It’s okay Smith.” Smith unmounted the UTV and Trott could hear him walk up beside him.

“This is my favorite spot in the entire park.”

“It’s quite nice.” Trott pointed upstream to the cliff that housed Smith’s cabin and watch tower. “I’m sure the view from your place is beautiful.” Smith shrugged.

“The falls are loud. But this -” he motions to the river as it meanders down into the rapids “- nothing beats this.” Smith walked deeper into the river, and Trott noticed Smith hadn’t taken off his shoes; it tickled him. “When I was a ranger, this is where I would come…” Smith trailed off as he peered into the water.

“You were a ranger?”

“Years ago.”

“Didn’t like it?” The smile on Smith was warm, his eyes soft with remembrance. Trott had to admit that it looked nice on him.

“Oh no, I loved it. I was just bad at it,” he laughed. “Lewis told me he would never hire me on again. Said he never had a less productive ranger.” Smith leaned over, and lifted a large rock out of the water. He walked it back to shallow water near Trott. “I spent the first month just trying to learn how to balance rocks.” Trott watched as the fire watch compiled a collection of different size and shaped rocks near him. “Have you ever balanced rocks?” Smith’s eyes found Trott’s and the ranger’s face must have answered for him. The light of childish joy shined as Smith leaned down to grab a rock. “Cmon, I’ll show you.”

Trott let himself be bossed around the rock tower. Smith definitely was good at this - when to hold the rock, and when to let it wobble into place. He was good at teaching, the excitement in his voice encouraging instead of heavy. Trott caught Smith looking at him a few times, and the man wasn’t shy about it. He was all praise and compromise - it made Trott feel at ease. He realized that the more time Trott spent with his coworkers, the more ridiculous his precautions seemed. He thought of Ross, and considered Smith: would either of them really rally against him if they knew? Would they cast him away like he expected? Maybe the questions weren’t about would but whether Trott thought they should - and he bitterly thought so.

Trott caught onto the lean of the rocks too late, and they tumbled into the water, splashing up onto him and Smith. His heart froze and he braced himself, trying to be small next to Smith. Instead, he was greeted with a laugh that shook Smith’s shoulders. His eyes were closed as he laughed, doubled over in mirth. Trott stared at the man, stunned at his own reaction. Smith sunk his hands into the water and started to recollect the rocks. When he noticed Trott’s expression, he smiled softly. “Dude, it’s okay. Everyone messes up the first few times. Come on, help me pick up the pieces.” Trott’s body moved automatically at the command as his brain tried to catch up. 

“I’m sorry,” he dumbly offered. Smith looked at him again around the rocks they piled together.

“Trott, it’s fine. I promise.” Trott pursed his lips, but tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest. His breaths were short as he wrangled in his panic, and half-listened to Smith chatter about the physics of balancing rocks. 

“Do you want to know the secret?” The ranger hummed politely. “Everyone thinks that they have to put the perfect rock in the perfect place, but really -” Smith adjusted one of the rocks, slowly pulling Trott’s hand to correct the balance. “It’s about not being afraid to make it up as you go.” Smith nodded to the rock in his hand. “You see this? Ugly little fucker. But you can’t change the rock, only what you do with it. This little ridge here? It’s just right for balancing at the edge of this one - just move your hand to support it, yeah. And that piece will balance out this support. Without the ugly fucker, this wouldn’t work.” Trott stopped looking at the stones and looked at Smith. He had the same glint that Ross had when he talked about his art; he wondered if that’s why they were close. Trott looked away, wondering if he was that way with anything. It was hard to think of anything when everything felt like how old coffee tasted.

“Let it go.”

“What?” Smith looked from the stones to Trott and smiled.

“We can’t just hold onto them for forever, it wouldn’t be near as impressive.” Trott laughed softly, but nodded. He was surprised it didn’t move when Smith counted down and stepped back. Smith leaned, seeming to admire their work, and Trott had to admit he was impressed with it. It looked graceful for a glorified pile of rocks.

“Good job partner,” Smith chirped, offering his hand for a fistbump. Trott side-eyed him, but compiled with his request. For having a bad first impression, Smith was growing on Trott. Maybe it really was just a misunderstanding. Smith whipped out his phone from his pocket and perched low to take a picture.

“That proud uh?”

“Just gotta show Ross that he’s not the only Artist-in-Residence on campus.” Smith clicked the picture and grinned mischievously as he typed away. Trott let himself smile, wondering how he had gotten himself into this. All he knew is that it was one of the better days off he had so far. “Hey, Ross wants to know if we want to go grab dinner tonight. You up for it?” Trott looked at the pile of rocks. Trott didn’t want to leave the river, as if it was the source of the weirdly fulfilling tickle he had in his chest. The ranger turned to the auburn-haired man, who didn’t look away from him. His eyes were bright with eagerness, and he looked like he was barely containing a smile.

“You’re gonna need different shoes.” Smith’s laugh filled the meadow. Trott reveled in the warmth of it, and he struggled to resent himself for it.

“Ross owes me a favor so I’ll borrow some,” Smith offered as he padded out of the river. He dumped each of his shoes in the shallow water. Smith shot off a text, pocketed the phone, and headed towards the four wheeler. Trott was okay until he realized Smith expected him to climb onto the vehicle with him. The only way to get out of straddling behind Smith was to sit bitch on the back rack and bounce around for the seven minute ride to Ross. “What? Do I smell?” Smith asked, already sniffing at his shirt.

“No, I’m just…” Smith stared at Trott, who rubbed his arm nervously. 

“Do you wanna drive?” That idea was even worse, but Trott didn’t want to say it. Smith eyed the ranger curiously, but patiently waited for Trott to make up his mind. Rationally, he knew it wasn’t a big of a deal as he was making it. But that didn’t make his skin stop prickling. People ride four wheelers like this all the time, Trott reminded himself. He marched one foot in front of the other before he could seize up again. Smith stood as Trott mounted the vehicle, settling as far back as he could, his fingers like vines around the back rack. Whether Smith noticed the discomfort Trott couldn’t tell. It didn’t stop him from grinning over his shoulder at the ranger as he revved the engine to life.

Smith drove over the ridges and between the trees with ease. Trott’s only complaint was that the fire watch was fond of getting air, causing Trott’s stomach to launch into his chest, and his thighs to bump into Smith’s. Whenever they landed, Smith giggled with glee, but always checked on Trott with a quick glance over his shoulder. “Having fun yet ranger?”

“Not as much fun as you, I think.”

“Come on Trott, live a little,” he sang over the engine. They broke through the brush and found themselves on the main road that leads them back to Smitten Pond. At least here Smith wouldn’t try to get any more style points, Trott told himself. Trott only held on with one hand as he watched the forest speed past them. Most of the trees had already started to change colors, the sunlight warm as it landed on the orange and yellow leaves. It was hard to believe September was almost over; Trott had only been at the park for a bit over a month. Trott counted the different colors the sun highlighted in Smith’s hair, content with view ahead of him.

When they rounded the pond to the white cottage, Ross was sitting on the porch steps, an extra pair of shoes at his feet. Smith turned off the engine, slinking out from between the handles and Trott. “You’re a lifesaver, Ross.” Trott slid off the vehicle, stretching as Smith switched his shoes.

“What right-minded person walks into a river with shoes on?” Ross teased as he tossed the damp shoes near his door.

“I was on the way home, I didn’t know we were going out,” Smith replied, sticking his tongue out at Ross over his shoulder. The artist ruffled the other man’s windswept hair, and approached Trott. He smiled softly at the ranger and Trott instinctively returned one.

“How was the ride over?”

“Bumpy.”

“Always with Smith,” Ross teased again, only to have his hood pulled over his eyes by the fire watch as he passed.

“I’ve never heard you complain Hornby.”

“I’ve been too scared with fright.” Smith flipped him off as he climbed onto the four wheeler, but the smile made it lighthearted. Trott looked from the four wheeler to Ross, and Ross put a hand on his upper arm. “Don’t worry Trott, I’ll save you. I’ll ride bitch, and you can ride bitch-bitch.”

‘Bitch-bitch’ wasn’t terrible: Trott sat longways on the back rack, his toes tucked into the rack handles and fingers on the other side. Ross gripped the rack near Trott’s hand, and wrapped an arm around Smith’s torso. Unlike Trott, Ross looked relaxed. Whenever Smith took a corner, Ross looked back at Trott and offered an apologetic smile. Since they stayed on the road, it was hardly bumpy, and Trott’s bum only started to get numb when they neared the Clubhouse. Smith parked the four wheeler in the gated garage and Trott rolled off the rack with a grateful groan. 

“Here comes trouble.” Trott looked at the gate and saw Sips, walking towards the three of them.

“You going to the Pub Sipsy?” Ross asked.

“Maybe, you troublesome teens going and need a chaperone?”

“More like someone to pick up the tab.”

“In your dreams Smiffy.” Sips motioned towards a baby blue Buick Century. “I’ll drive you younguns, hop in.”

“Shotgun!” Smith yelled as he raced Sips to the car. Ross laughed, but waited for Trott to be beside him before walking to the car.

“If you need to leave at any point, just let me know and we’ll leave okay?” Trott looked over at the artist - this near-stranger who was too nice to him. Trott’s chest was tight at the notion and he smiled.

“Ross, why do you do all this?” Ross turned at the question.

“What do you mean?” 

“The rides home, the checking up, the inviting out, the -” Trott caught himself, quickly looking at Smith and Sips. “The pep-talks.” Ross watched the groundskeeper and the fire watch climb into the car. R&B music blared from the Buick, and Ross returned his attention to Trott.

“I do “all this” because I want to help you Trott.”

“I don’t nee-”

“Oh, but you do - please let me talk Trott.” Trott closed his mouth, and slid his tongue across the back of his teeth as he counted them. “We can talk, or not talk, about this later. I don’t want to start something moments before we have to climb into the back of Sips’ car. But, it hurts to know you are suffering through whatever is going on. I’m not here to belittle or pity you. I may not know you personally Chris, but as someone who has hit rock bottom, I cannot help but to try to keep you from suffering alone.” Trott and Ross were quiet as they walked to the car. Trott was too dumbfounded to really say anything, so he settled for studying Ross’ face. It looked like Ross wanted to say more before he opened his car door, but only paused to look back at the ranger

“We’ll talk later,” Trott stated, and then opened the car door and ducked inside. The rush of bass helped Trott feel better about how much wasn’t heard. Smith looked back as Ross climbed into the car, and he sung the lyrics to Ross animatedly. 

“So tip up your cup and throw your hands up, and let me hear the party say!” Sips joined Smith on the chorus as he pulled out of the gated lot and drove towards town. Trott didn’t know most of the songs, and didn’t sing along when he did. Trott focused on counting the telephone poles and drowning out the three men singing and beatboxing around him. What was he thinking? Was he going to actually talk to Ross about stuff later, or would he chicken out? What did he want, and what did he think would be best? And best for what end? 

Trott felt something fall onto his hand - when he looked, Ross was playing with the middle seat belt, lazily flopping it onto the ranger. If it was a peace offering, Trott accepted it. There was comfort knowing that Trott had someone in his corner, even if that person was incredibly persistent. He caught the fabric and locked eyes with Ross.

“Thank you,” he mouthed. Ross tugged the seat belt with a smile and a nod. Trott decided he would save the conversation for later, and tried to not think about it until then.

The Pub was packed, and Smith practically ran to a table the moment it opened up. They were near the bar, the tvs showing a local sports game.  The waitress turned out to be Katie, the fiery-haired cashier at the Park’s Clubhouse.

“Long time, no see,” she laughed as she neared the table. “Yous here for karaoke again?” Trott turned to Ross, who was coyly smirking around his hand.

“It’s not Wednesday without some Wings and Wham!” Sips supplied. Katie took their orders, and Trott stared down Ross.

“It’s okay Trott, Smith and Sips hog the stage all night.” Sips pointed at the artist.

“Everyone else here sucks Ross. It’s my civil duty to save everyone from the torture.”

“So you won’t be singing tonight, Trott?” Smith asked around his bottle.

“No one wants to hear me sing, I promise.”

“No one wants to hear Smith either, but he still does.”

“Oi!”

“It’s okay Smiffy, you still have your good looks.”

“You two suck.” Smith was saved from the pestering when Katie brought their food. They dug into their dinner, and Trott didn’t realize how hungry he was. Sips and Smith swapped different flavors of wings, and Ross picked at a hefty pile of nachos. Between the loud bar, great food, and teasing banter, it felt like Trott was back in college. The ranger almost forgot what it was like to sit down with company and relax. He and Ashton never went out, and Trott was expected to be home if he wasn’t at work. Trott pushed the idea out of his mind, instead trying to taste each of the burger’s toppings.

“Trott, do you want the rest of my shandy? It doesn’t taste well with my wings,” Smith offered, motioning to the beer sat between them. Trott looked to Ross, who shrugged and shoved a loaded chip into his mouth. Fuck it. Trott gingerly took a sip of the beer; it was a warm and smooth texture. A bit hoppy, but still tasty.

“Oh this is good.” Trott had sworn against alcohol when he graduated. He only drank when he was in college, but coming back to New Haven meant there was no more going out since there was no more being out. Alcohol was too much of a liability when most of his life was kept behind closed doors. But God, Trott had forgotten how good beer was.

By the time karaoke started, the table tallied up a dozen beers. Sips’ grinned as Ross tripped over a tongue twister. 

“Well who the fuck sells sea shells at the fucking shore anyways?!”

“Since she sells seashells on the seashore, surely they sparkle shiningly in the summer sun.” Ross glared at Smith, who grinned smugly from the other side of the table. He suddenly reached under the table with a yelp, glaring back at Ross. The artist joyfully looked down at his plate, ignoring the grumbling man. “Sore loser.”

“Show off.”

“Now now children play nice.” The song ended and the patron stepped off the stage. The emcee took the mic, reminding patrons of the drink and dinner specials.

“Next on the list, is one of our favorites, Alex Smith!” The table erupted with noise as Sips and Ross hooted and clapped. Smith had a moment of sheepishness, but it was quickly replaced with a cool regard as he neared the stage.

“You are in for a treat Trott,” Sips said over the noise. Trott looked around the Pub, and noticed that most of the tables had their eyes on the auburn-haired man. He plucked away at the machine, and after a minute stood. The music filled the restaurant, but Smith didn’t let it drown him out. His voice was smooth, but he performed the voice well. Sips and Ross sang the backing vocals from the table, and Trott could see Smith smile as he belted the refrain. When the song faded out, the Pub rang with applause.

“Awesome as always Alex! His favorite shot is the Buttery Nipple in case anyone was wondering,” the emcee announced over the intercom and Smith laughed with the crowd. He was offered high fives and fist bumps the entire way back to the table, and several shots beat him back to the table.

“Like a fucking rockstar,” Sips sighed. Smith shrugged as he drummed his thumbs onto the table. 

“Mike just uses me to sell more drinks.” Smith knocked back the last of his beer, adding it to the small group at the end of the table. “If I’m a rockstar, does that mean you guys are my groupies?”

“What’s in it for us?”

“Free shots?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Ross plucked one of the layered shots from in front of Smith. The four of them held up the shots, Smith with two at the ready. “To Smith’s amazing voice and rockstar cock.” Trott laughed, clinked his glass with theirs, and downed the sweet shot. This was the best Trott had felt in months. The alcohol left Trott feeling light and heavy, giddy and calm. But most of all, it was warm and familiar. He sat back in his chair, looking at his co-workers. He idly wondered if that’s all they were, but the alcohol swept his thoughts away after a while. Another round of shots came to the table, but Trott declined his.

“I need a water round,” he admitted, mostly to himself. “’s been awhile since my last night out.”

“Me too actually, have mine Sipsy,” Ross stated, sliding the shot to the older man. Sips and Smith shared them, and Sips stood up from the table. “I need a smoke, anyone coming with?”

“Yeah, I want a drag.” Ross stood, rounding the table, dragging his hand along the back of Trott’s chair.

“Fucking mooch,” Sips said, but he wrapped his arm around Ross’ shoulders and pulled him towards the back exit sign. When Trott looked back, Smith was smiling at him.

“Thanks for coming out Trott.”

“It’s been great actually,” Trott happily sighed. Katie cleared the bottles and shot glasses, and Smith asked her for a pitcher of water. Trott idly noted the blue-green of Smith’s eyes cool against the waitress' fiery mantle. Smith turned at the small giggle that escaped the ranger. “You and her would be cute.” Smith laughed and rolled his eyes as he drank from his beer.

“Playing Cupid now ranger?”

“Nah, I don’t look good in diapers.” Smith let out a loud laugh, having to cover his mouth as to not spit out his water. Trott smugly grinned as the auburn-haired man struggled to recover.

“We should have asked you to come to wing night weeks ago.” Trott smiled at the comment and poured himself a glass of water. Trott juggled the remark on his tongue, unsure if he should say it.

“I - I wouldn’t have come out before tonight, I don’t think. I was pretty sure you hated me before tonight.” Trott swished around his glass without looking at Smith, but he knew the fire watch was looking at him. If Trott had learned nothing else today, he learned that Smith did not care if you knew he was looking, he was going to look. The attention made Trott’s chest feel light, but his tongue heavy.

“For the record, I didn’t.” Smith paused, and Trott looked over to him. He leaned his arms onto the table, encompassing his drink and to-go box. “Ross never told me what I said wrong. I’m sorry for not reaching out earlier. I don’t uh, really remember most of that staff meeting,” Smith admitted, his thumb rubbing along his forearm.

“It’s okay Smith. No harm, no foul,” Trott remedied as he held up his glass. Smith clinked it with his own and they drank on it. 

“Ross really speaks highly of you,” Smith continued. “Most of the staff do actually.”

“You secretly an Undercover Boss Smith?” It earned Trott a smile, one that was charmingly crooked. 

“I’m just saying, as someone who has been around for a long time, I know the park can get lonely. But, our oddball team is an oddball family. And we look out for one another.” Smith looked down into his glass. “I know that cabin plays tricks on the head. The first month is hard, but December is even harder, I promise.” Smith was quiet for a minute, and Trott studied his face. It wasn’t the impassioned cry that Ross sung, earnest to get Trott to heed his warning. It was quieter, a whisper of a war story instead of a cautionary tale. “Long story short, I would like if you’d come back to bum it up on Wing Night. And I know Ross would too.” 

“What would I like?” Ross asked as he snuck up behind Trott.

“Smith is trying to make me come outside of my cabin more often,” Trott explained instead.

“Well, then yes, I would like that.” Trott couldn’t figure out how he was in this moment, sitting between two people that wanted to spend time with him. Retrospectively, Trott realized he must have been a shotty conversationalist on his bad days, and almost never took the time to stick around with staff groups to just chat. The ranger wondered how much he was missing in the day-to-day life of the park. He looked at the two men wondering how much he didn’t know about them, and what he had overlooked. Trott only briefly heard about Ross’ family, but not much else, and he knew even less about Smith. Though keyed in on something things, they didn’t know very much about him either. But they wanted to get to know him, and Trott realized he wanted them to.

The group didn’t stay much longer - Sips had to get up early the next day to spend the rest of the week in the backcountry, cleaning up trails. Trott mutely watched the town drive by as Smith and Ross played what sounded like a very extensive game of would you rather.

“Smith, I can’t take you up into the mountains, I can feel those shots creeping up on me,” Sips warned, interrupting the two.

“What am I paying you for then?”

“You’re not paying me anything.” Sips and Smith laughed in the front seat, but Trott leaned forward.

“If you need a place to crash, my couch is pretty comfy,” Trott offered.

“Can I crash too?” Trott looked over at Ross, surprised by the question. Trott figured it was just so he and Ross could talk about stuff, though having Smith there made Trott hesitant to bring it up.

“I mean, you’ll have to share the couch or pull it out into a bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tricked Ross instead sleeping with me,” Smith hummed happily from the front seat.

“But it might be the last, you ass hat,” Ross retorted, flicking the fire watch’s ear. Sips laughed, and turned off to Trott’s cabin. “It wasn’t like that anyways.”

“You know I’m just fucking around Ross,” Smith remedied, turning back to look at Ross. The Resident Artist rolled his eyes, but smiled. Trott idly wondered if the way Smith looked at Ross was the same as the way he looked at Trott. If so, it was more than he deserved. Sips pulled up to the cabin, and the three younger staff stumbled out of the Buick and onto the front porch, waving at Sips as he backed out. “Home, sweet home, aye Trott?” Trott opened the front door, flicking on the overhead lights.

“It’s definitely something,” he offered instead as they rounded the furniture. Smith and Ross popped open the pull-out bed as Trott rummaged around the in storage closet for some spare bedding. 

“This is where I left my comforter!?” Smith yelled as Trott brought the two of them a stack of linens. The comforter in question was plush with tasseled edges, a deep green in color. Smith picked it up off the top of the pile and held it up for inspection.

“Is that really yours, or are you just trying to get the warmest looking blanket?” Ross teased as he stretched out the fitted sheet. Smith twisted the blanket around in his arms, his face set in determination. Ross smiled and rolled his eyes as Trott and him made the bed. 

“Ah ha!” Smith yelled, holding the blanket’s corner to Ross’ face. “A. Smith,” he read, as it was marked on the tag. Ross pulled the blanket closer to his face, while Trott curled up in the arm chair. Ross and Smith sprawled out on the pull-out mattress, Ross laying down so he was near Trott. “It was a gift from Kevin.”

“Kevin?” Ross asked. He fluffed the pillow and tucked the corners under his arms. Smith was quiet, his eyes soft as his fingers ran through the tassels.

“Kevin is my foster-dad.” Trott looked to Ross, who seemed to be just as surprised. “It wasn’t terrible,” Smith remedied. “My real parents just couldn’t keep money while I was growing up.”

“I’m sorry Smith,” Ross offered, but Smith shrugged.

“Kevin and his wife were great to me. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be working here.”

“Do you still talk with him?” Smith sat back and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. The deep viridian plush made Smith’s hair and eyes pop - his freckles and lashes seemed more defined despite the poorly lit room. Trott wished he had grabbed something to fiddle with.

“My foster mom recently passed away - it’s been hard for us to talk.” Ross reached out for Smith with his foot, and the gesture was oddly reassuring to Trott. He didn’t know what to say to the fire watch - Trott had never known loss, not like that. Trauma, yes, but not tragedy. Trott tried not to think of his mother, who still didn’t know if Trott was even alive.

“Well, make sure you take it home this time,” Trott said, watching Smith caress the smooth fabric. Smith smiled at the ranger and nodded. Trott hopped up from the chair, walking towards the steps. “Let me get you more bedding.”

Trott finished with his shower, wiping the water from his fringe as he left the bathroom. Smith’s snores were audible from the kitchenette, and it made Trott smile. He looked into the living room to see the fire watch’s feet dangling off the end of the mattress. Trott was surprised to see that Ross was still up, the light of his phone illuminating his face.

“Hey Trott,” Ross said as he looked away from his phone. “You still wanna talk?” Trott looked from Ross to Smith, then back to Ross. Trott’s buzz had spiraled down the drain with all of Trott’s soap suds: he was arguably too sober for the conversation Ross wanted.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he found himself saying instead. Ross peeled back the sheets as he rolled off of the mattress - Smith’s snores came regardless. Trott put one foot in front of the other before he could talk himself out of it. After tonight, Trott knew in the very least that he had to give Ross and Smith a chance. As much fun as he had today, it was more eye-opening on how much Trott’s absence was noticed. He at least owed it to people like Ross to try. 

Trott flicked on the side table lamp, and crawled into his full-size bed. Ross had his comforter from downstairs draped around his shoulders, and he sat on top of Trott’s covers. His hair was more laxed, as if he had been playing with the longer spikes in the front. The Resident Artist looked tired, especially in the dim light of the warming lamp. 

“Thank you for coming out tonight,” Ross started, not yet looking fully at Trott. The ranger smiled and nodded.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Did you at least have fun?”

“It was a lot of fun.”

“Do you think you’ll come out again?” Trott thought about it - and the silence earned him Ross’ gaze. It wasn’t stern or pleading - Ross was really just gauging Trott’s reaction. His eyes were almost glass in the brightening light.

“I do.” Ross’ smile was worth the mostly-true answer. Because Trott could go out again - but only if Ross was there. The two of them sat quietly, and the low snores from the fire watch drifted into the quiet. Trott thought of the rock towers in the northern river, and what Smith had said about the ugly rocks. He thought of the fire watch as a ranger, sleeping restlessly in the same room years ago. What did Smith have to run from? Trott looked at Ross, who was staring at him. Did Ross have anything to keep him up at night, he wondered. Maybe the three of them weren’t so different.

“You look lost in thought,” Ross stated. Ever persistent, Trott thought as he shifted in bed. He sat up and faced Ross, trying to formulate thoughts in words.

“I’m not ready to talk about specifics,” Trott started slowly. He wrung the blanket in his hands as he spoke, trying to feel every stitch in the hem. “But I am here, and not somewhere else, for a reason.” Ross’ face was purposeful neutral - and it made Trott nervous.

“Thank you Chris. I appreciate you telling me even that.” Trott tried not to think of the warmth in Trott’s chest, and instead looked out to the cold dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Smith sings is "Roxanne" by the Police, for anyone who was interested haha.


	5. Last Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott has a rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very heavy trigger warnings for this chapter! Suicide warning and mentions of past abuse! Message for more information.

“Please! Anyone!” Trott sat up out of his bed. “Help!” Trott grabbed his flashlight, handheld, and standard issue, and scrambled down the tight staircase. He stomped into his boots, and opened the front door with a yell back.

“Hello? What’s going on?” He flashed the light into the woods where he heard the voice, and scanned the shrubbery.

“Sir, please, help!” A lady fumbled out of the foliage, barely catching her breath as she folded over. Trott approached her, bringing the walkie to his mouth.

“ _Check, check, come in_.”

“Please, my friend, he’s -”

“What’s going on ma’am?”

“He’s going to jump.” The young woman’s face twisted into a sob. “Please, I need help.”

“ _Roger, roger, this is Smith, What’s going on, over_?” Trott beckoned the girl forward, and they sped towards the UTV behind the cabin.

“Smith, I have a Last Stand reported, and Lewis is in town, over.”

“ _I’ll report in, do you want support, over_?” Trott looked his passenger before he started the ignition. She was sobbing into her hands, body trembling with each breath.

“Affirmative.”

“ _Roger, over and out_.” Trott turned the ignition and trained his eyes on the forest before him. The five minute drive to the southern river bridge, and then down to the rickety fence seemed to stretch on for forever. “Stay here,” Trott said as he grabbed a bundle of rope and passed the fence.

“Sir, I’m not going to - “

“I’ll come get you when it’s okay.”

“No way.”

“Do you want us to argue or for me to go to your friend?” Trott didn’t wait for her reply, and pushed through the overgrown greenery. “Hello?” Trott called out as he rounded into the shallow clearing before the falls. There was a body at the edge of the falls, seemingly sitting with their legs dangling over the loud waters below. The person didn’t say anything back, and Trott took the moment to tangle the rope securely around the nearest tree. “Your friend is really worried about you.” He hooped some of the rope’s length around his waist and thighs as a makeshift harness.

“I-I don’t deserve her.” Trott placed his handgun at his feet, and secured his flashlight and walkie talkie.

“I told her to wait for you at the car I drove here in, is that okay? Do you want to see her?”

“I don’t want her to see this.”

“What’s your name, friend?” The man didn’t speak for a long moment, and Trott’s muscles were tense, ready to spring forward.

“Brennan.”

“Well Brennan, my name is Chris, and I’m here to help how I can.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Well, I can at least be company. It is hard to be going through something alone. Is it alright if I come sit with you?” That earned Trott a cold stare over the man’s shoulder. His eyes were silver in the moonlight, and his hair dark like the night. Trott had to double take to make sure it wasn’t Ross. The similarity made Trott’s heart stop, but his features weren’t like the artist, and Trott made himself focus on the man in front of him. “If you do not want that, I can stand here.”

“What’s the rope for?”

“I’m terribly clumsy for a Park Ranger.” The man gave a huff. “My job is to reunite you with your friend. Not to apprehend you.” The man looked away, staring at the stars above them. “What is her name?” The man took in a deep breath.

“Melanie,” he murmured. “You can sit.” Trott took a deep breath and walked towards the edge, the other half of rope in his hands. Trott gave Brennan his space, close enough to smell the alcohol on him, but far enough to hopefully seem nonthreatening. Trott was taken back to his first day, where he stood across the river and wondered what this would be like: it wasn’t even close to how intense it truly was now. The height was bearable, but the noise was overwhelming and it felt like the earth was crumbling beneath his hands. It was cold dirt and cold air, with a heavy dark that laid across the tree canopy below.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling Brennan?”

“I’m cold.”

“There’s a blanket waiting for you at my vehicle when we go back. We are going back, right Brennan?” He didn’t respond, and Trott sat with him in silence for a few minutes. “Why tonight?”

“What?”

“What happened tonight?”

“I got fired from my job for relapsing.”

“That is a frustrating situation to have to go through. It is understandable that you’re upset about it.”

“I fucked up, and now my daughter will suffer for it.”

“What’s her name?”

“Delilah.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“It was her mom’s favorite.” Trott didn’t press the issue, and returned to silence with Brennan. “I can’t go back.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I have nothing left. They’re taking her away. If I have to go back to a house without her I’ll -” the sob scared Trott as Brennan’s body lurched forward, but not over.

“Brennan, it’s obvious you care about your daughter -”

“Of course I do, she’s my baby.”

“I can see that by how upset you are about your situation. But if you go through with killing yourself, she will always have to go back to a home without you.” Trott continued over the man’s crying. “I know you don’t want that. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but it will be conquerable. You have people that care about you, and want you to be able to go home. Would holding onto something help Brennan? When I’m upset, I have restless hands.” Brennan reached out, hiding his face with the other hand. Trott gingerly wrapped the thick rope around the man’s hand. “Take as long as you need.” They sat together under the crescent moon, and the growling water filled the silence between them. Brennan rested his hands in his lap, and stared up at the stars once more. Trott wondered if he knew any of the constellations, or if the moon was waxing or waning. Something told Trott the man next to him wasn’t really concerned with celestial circumstances right now, and the thought made Trott come back into the moment with Brennan.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“Well, we’re going to go to the Park Clubhouse, and I’m going to get you on the phone with a crisis hotline, and from there, you can talk with the crisis worker to see what would be best for you. That could include going to the hospital, but it doesn’t always need that route. They’ll talk about services to help in your area, and help you deescalate at the very least.” Brennan wiped his face on his sleeve and nodded. “I can get up first and help you up if you want.”

“Please.” After carefully peeling the both of them from the ledge, Trott lead the man towards the shrubbery when Smith appeared.

“Trott, everything okay?”

“This is Brennan, he needs a blanket. And I’m sure Melanie will be glad to see him,” Trott said instead, and motioned for Smith to escort him to the UTV. Trott quickly untangled himself from the rope, holstered his handgun, and rewound the rope on the way back. When Trott returned, he saw Melanie and Brennan in embrace and Smith waiting near the fence.

“Trott,” Smith said again, and approached him. His face was stricken with worry, his eyebrows knitted close.

“It’s okay, we’ll talk later.” Smith wasn’t happy with that answer, judging by his square jaw, but he turned to the two visitors. Trott spotted the four-wheeler next to the UTV, and walked up to the UTV to put the rope away. “Do you two want to head to the Clubhouse?” Brennan nodded and the two climbed onto the UTV, sitting close hand-in-hand. In the UTV’s light, he didn’t look like Ross, but Trott couldn’t stop thinking about the Resident Artist.

“ _Come in Trott, Smith, over_ ,” the walkie spoke.

“Go ahead,” Smith replied as he walked away from the three of them. Trott would deal with Smith later, whatever he was upset about. The engine started and the lights flicked on, flooding Smith in yellow. The auburn haired man didn’t turn around, so Trott took that as a good time to make his leave.

 

\--

 

“Smith told me you had rope wrapped around you,” Lewis preluded as he entered the office later that night. Trott rubbed his eyes: the incident report would have to wait, he guessed.

“Sir -”

“You’re not Wonder Woman, Trott. What were you thinking?”

“I honestly thought he would have jumped by the time we got there. I brought it to repel down.”

“That doesn’t explain why it was wrapped around you like a Tuesday night prossie, Ranger.” Trott took a deep breath and counted the lines on the incident report form. He could feel the argument starting to chip away at his resolve. It didn’t help that Lewis towered over him, sat at the desk.

“I wanted it as a precaution after I saw he was still there.”

“Trott if you ever go to that edge with so much as a belt wrapped around you, you’re fired.”

“Sir, it was for safety -”

“Thoughts like that make you feel safer than you actually are. Fear keeps you sharp, ‘precautions’ make you reckless.” His hand emphasized the statements with knocks on the table top. Trott set his jaw and tried to think of multiples of 13. He could feel his chest getting tight, and he knew he was holding his breath. “You can’t save everyone, and while your heroism is admirable, it is not worth your own life Chris.” Lewis must have known that Trott wasn’t going to continue, because he left the room after a beat of silence. Trott exhaled through the tingle at his eyes and muttered the bubbling anger away. But when Trott turned to finish his write-up, there was a knock at the door. Trott wasn’t expecting it to be Smith, given how mad he was when Trott left him at Last Stand.

“Lewis just left.”

“I know, I told him to get me when he was done being an ass.” Trott eyed the fire watch, confused. “He always gets mad when his personnel do things that put them on the line for what he thinks are dumb reasons. You’ll learn that all of his threats are empty.” Trott nodded, and rubbed his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not much to talk about. He came back.”

“Doesn’t mean it was easy. I cried for an hour after my first rescue on the harness.” That surprised Trott, seeing as Smith was known for his flippant attitude.

“This staff is very forthcoming with personal disclosure,” Trott said instead. Smith looked back at the ranger, with his own confused look.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, just not used to it.” Smith shrugged, and leaned against the door frame.

“Rubs off on you after awhile, I guess. Lewis is just that much of a chatterbox.”

“I’m okay Smith. It’s late, I don’t want to keep you. You have a long ride back.”

“Ross is letting me crash in his spare bedroom. There’s no way I could make it up the mountain tonight.”

“Is there something else you wanted then?” Trott continued. The man opposite of him chewed his lip, and bounced his leg.

“Well if you need to talk about tonight, I’ll have my walkie,” Smith concluded, shaking his handheld radio as proof. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, Smith.” Trott waited until he heard the four-wheeler take off before he let himself cry. Everything was starting to catch up with him - the hiding, the lying, the isolation. It’s been two months since he’s spoken to anyone he knew before, and he missed his mom. The guilt of worrying everyone he had known for escaping one fuckhead didn’t seem worth it anymore. Being a ranger wasn’t hard; the overtime was tiring, but being caught up helped him get outside of himself. It was the nights, the long, quiet, and dark, that bothered him. It was bottling everything up because he didn’t want anyone to get in.

Trott threw his head back and let out a shout of frustration. He listed the circumpolar constellations as he breathed through his fit. How many more of these outbursts could be conjure up? Trott felt like he couldn’t keep his cool for more than a day at a time. He had ran from Kim because she had been talking about her lunch date at a local creamery right outside of New Haven. Kim said she had never been in New Haven proper, but it still made Trott feel itchy all over. It was a big enough town that it could be that Ashton didn’t know her, but it was that weight in Trott’s chest that made him leave.

“ _Trott, hey are you still up?”_ Ross’ voice came out of the walkie, over a far-away “ _Ross give me back my walkie_ ”. Trott couldn’t stop the eye-roll.

“What’s up Ross, over?”

“ _Do you have a bottle opene -”_

_”I’m sorry Trott, Ross is a wily motherfu -”_

_“Dude shut up.”_ There was a pause. “ _Over_.” Trott laughed to himself at the pair and rubbed his eyes dry. Trott was dead-tired, but knew he would be too wound up to go back to sleep. And though he didn’t want to pretend any more tonight, it sounded better than being alone.

“I’ll be there soon, over and out.” Finishing up his write-up, Trott locked up the Clubhouse and hopped into the UTV. Trott looked up at the waxing moon, and hoped Brennan and Melanie were okay at the hospital as he drove towards to the cottage.

“You are a fucking hero Trott,” Ross offered from his couch. The dark haired man had a long sleeve shirt and baggy sweatpants on, his long limbs spilling across the loveseat. Trott held his beer as he nestled into the arm of the couch; Smith softly snored from the bean bag chair he had curled into. He hadn’t been joking when he said he wouldn’t have made it up the mountain, Trott mused. Trott had arrived to the cottage a half hour later, and Smith had Macgyver’d his way into his beer. It sat, sweating and half empty, on the end table between him and Ross.

“It wasn’t all that Ross.”

“It was a lot to that guy and that lady.” Trott smiled softly at the compliment, but looked down at his hands. It had been just as hard to accept the thank-you’s and well-wishing at the precinct.

“Just doing my job.”

“That’s not how the papers are going to run it.” Trott shrugged - it wouldn’t be the first time his name would have been in the pa-

“Wait, what?” Trott stared at Ross, his brain catching up. Ross met his gaze, and put down his own drink. Trott sat forward in his seat, his stomach dropping.

“If the ambulance is called, the police are called Trott, you know that.” Trott stood up and rounded the couch. He barely recovered from tripping over Smith’s boots, but padded his way into the kitchen. He covered his face with his hands, the cool of his bottle sharp against his hot cheeks. Trott could hear Ross walk into the kitchen, but Trott couldn’t care. Ashton would know where he was come morning: if not this morning, then by lunch. “Trott, what’s going on?” Trott knew that Ross was whispering, but it felt harsh in the quiet hum of the cottage.

“I can’t stay here.”

“Whoa, what are you talking about?”

“Ross, please, I can’t -”

“Trott, I’m worried about you.” Trott let a laugh slip. It was followed with a few more, but they collapsed into sobs, and Trott slid down the kitchen wall until he curled into himself. Ross’ body was warm against his side, and the closeness made Trott feel worse. Ross cooed and hummed, shuffling between Trott and the counters. Trott barely registered Ross’ foot touch his own. “Trott, I know you don’t like to talk about stuff, but please.”

“I did so much to make sure it was all behind me,” he admitted between breaths. “I was just doing my job.”

“Are you worried about the newspaper?” Trott nodded into his knees, his hands twisting the beer bottle near his ankles. “Are you worried about your name being in the paper?” Trott nodded more, tightening his arms around his shins and fighting back more sobs. Ross was quiet for a few minutes, only reassuring Trott through soft sounds and proximity. Trott’s crying softened, but Trott didn’t want to raise his head. To face Ross would mean he would have to answer more questions, even if they were vague. Just when he was settling in, Trott worried he would have to leave. Ashton would leave a trail of destruction behind him if he came here: Trott could only imagine what rumors Ashton had started at the precinct after he realized Trott vanished. The thought of losing New Haven and Twin Peaks made Trott sick.  “Trott?” The ranger only hummed in response. “Is this about applesauce and pudding?” Trott took a deep breath and turned his head to face Ross. His friend’s eyes were bright and soft, and Trott felt like he could see the years of hurt in them. He wondered if Ross could see the same in his own.

“Kinda.” The admittance was easier than he thought it would be. It was enough for Ross to give him the knowing look, and nod softly. It wasn’t the mantra he had chanted in the shower, in all its private bravo, but it would have to do. Ross chewed on his lips as he sat next to Trott. They shared the silence, both sipping at their beers at hand. Trott was counting the intersections of dark grout on the kitchen floor when Ross looked back at him.

“The paper doesn’t go to New Haven.”

“But the police write-ups do. They go to my old squad.” And his name would find its way to Ashton. It always did, Trott thought miserably.

“Hey, what’s up?” Trott groaned lightly as Smith’s sleepy voice reminded Trott they weren’t alone.

“Smith - ”

“It’s alright Ross.” Trott wiped his face on his sleeve and stretched his legs. The beer was warmer from his death-grip, but Trott took a swig anyways. “I’m sorry guys.”

“No, it’s okay,” they said together.

“You guys just wanted to drink and have fun, and I’m not really helping that.”

“Oh my God, Trott, come on.”

“Smith, lay off.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on!”

“If he doesn’t wanna talk about it -”

“Guys,” Trott interrupted. He started to stand up, his head swimming a little but he shook it off. “We can talk about it, but my ass is numb.”

“Trott,” Ross started, but Trott shook his head.

“I’m tired of this game I’ve been playing with myself. Not talking about it is driving me over the edge.” Trott rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. “Just give me a minute.” Ross put a hand on Trott’s arm.

“Take as much time as you need. Smith -” he gives the auburn haired man a firm look, “and I will go sit down in the living room and let you take a breather.” Trott and Smith locked eyes as Ross walked out of the kitchen, tugging on Smith’s sweatshirt sleeve as he passed. Smith raised his beer to Trott, but let himself be lead back into the next room. Trott breathed through the nausea that swept through him, staring at the pristine sink as he composed himself. The ranger could hear his friends mumbling through the pass-through window that connected the living room to the kitchen, but it was unintelligible. Trott chugged the rest of his drink, and prayed for its liquid courage.

When he rounded the corner, Ross and Smith stopped talking. Ross and Smith were sitting on the couch, their heads close from their hushed conversation. Smith took a drink of his beer and Ross motioned Trott to sit in the loveseat the artist previously occupied. Trott counted the steps it took to get onto the loveseat, and pull the plush blanket around his shoulders. Ross' hands fluttered from his arms to tucking under his legs. Smith sat close to the artist, their knees almost touching as they turned to face Trott.

“I’ve never talked about this…” Trott started, twisting the blanket in his hands.

“Take as long as you need,” Smith offered, and Ross nodded. Trott felt dizzy again, and doubt tried to whisper in his ear. He pushed down the thoughts and counted to three.

“In New Haven, I got a job as an officer right out of college. Shortly after coming home, I met someone -” Trott swallowed, his chest tight. “Ashton works in an office building on the same block as my precinct - we always would bump into each other on our coffee runs.” Trott looking up at the ceiling and tried to breathe through his dizziness.

“Anyways, we started dating and within a few months, I moved out of my mom’s place and in with him and we got engaged - he played a very convincing Mr. Right. Told me we would stay in the closet until after we got married and could afford to leave New Haven.” Trott itched the scar on his collarbone through his jacket. It was tender to the touch, just like it had been the night Trott earn himself a cigar kiss. “Shortly after we moved in together is when he started to get possessive - the house was his, the car was his, I was his.” Ross offered a hand over the arm of the couch. Trott took it gingerly, resting on the side of the loveseat. His hand was warm, and Ross only held it. It was a weight that helped Trott focus.

“I was in the hospital when I saw that I got this job. It had been the worst of the fights.” Smith sat forward, and Trott saw the anger warm in his eyes. “The next day I told my boss I had to leave the precinct- I gave him only a week’s notice. He tried to ask me -” Trott hiccuped through a sob, and took a moment. Smith offered a hand as well, and Trott took it. He felt ridiculous stretching over the gap between the furniture, but couldn’t bring himself to care. “After my last day, I pretended to go to work, but I went to the landlord and told him I was leaving - I paid my half of the lease and got receipts. After Ashton went to work, I packed up clothes I knew I had the receipts for. I had fantasized about leaving for so long -” Trott let the tears roll down his face. “Only my mom knows I wasn’t staying - and I only told her when I left.” Trott blinked through the tears, wiping his cheeks on his sleeves as he gripped Smith’s and Ross' hands. “If that report goes to New Haven - I - I know he’ll come here.”

“You know Lewis won’t let anything happen to you.”

“ _We_ won’t let anything happen to you,” Smith interceded, his jaw set. Trott shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what else to say - he felt so stupid for telling them, he was supposed to be a ranger, an officer: he couldn’t even protect himself from one guy. He felt like he was just proving to them how inadequate he truly was - how Ashton had made him feel.

“Trott, leaving must have been terribly hard. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Ross said. He caressed Trott’s knuckles and the ranger thought it was too sweet. “Leaving was brave - telling us is brave.”

“Ross, please - I don’t -”

“I mean it. You know I’m not a bullshitter.”

“For real though Trott - it means a lot to me. I know it means a lot to Ross.” Ross nodded with Smith and Trott shrugged, beside himself.

“Do you want to come sit with us on the couch?” Smith asked. Trott looked from the artist to the fire watch - only months ago, Trott had promised himself not to let anyone else in, no one close. He looked to his hands, folded into their hands, warm and firm against Trott’s crashing facade. Trott either was a glutton for punishment, or these people truly cared for someone they barely knew.

Trott took the gamble.

He stood, only letting go of their hands to grip the blanket around his shoulders. Smith scooted to the far side of the couch, and Trott curled into the center of the sofa. Neither of them moved closer, giving Trott his space for the moment. Smith sipped at his drink, staring off towards the kitchen. Ross had a similar expression, and Trott was anxious for a moment. They could be thinking anything - what to say, how to react, when to ask Trott to leave. Trott felt the fabric of the blanket and it smelled faintly of coffee and mint. It was soft and warm against Trott as he reconciled with himself.

“You can’t run forever Trott,” Ross said softly, as if not wanting to say it. It was something Trott knew - and Ross wasn’t wrong. It was easy to pack up and lie through his teeth, much easier than confronting the person who had taken so much from him.

“I know… I’m just…”

“Scared?” Trott nodded, looking away from the sad expression that Ross sported. Trott offered his hand to Ross again, and the artist slid his hand onto it. Trott tried not to think of the warmth in his chest, chalking it up to the beer settling instead. The last thing Trott needed was more complication - but Trott felt like the effort was in vain. He would deal with it later, he promised himself, and let his thumb wander over Ross' calloused hand. He looked at the fire watch to find him looking his way. In the dim light of the living room, his eyes were dark like the forest at night. They shone at the flicker of the candle on the coffee table.

“When was the last time you talked to your mom?” Smith asked and Trott shrugged, dodging the fresh guilt as it bloomed in his chest. Ever since learning about Smith’s foster-mom’s passing, the idea of never talking to his mom again scared him. He knew her number by heart - it would only take a few moments to block his number and dial hers. But he had talked himself out of it every time.

“Too long ago. I just don’t want Ashton to find out where I am.” Smith nodded and draped his arm along the back of the sofa, nearer to Trott, but not touching. “But I guess that is over now…” Trott said, despite wanting it to be a private realization. “It’s too late to call no-”

“It’s never too late to hear from someone how care about,” Smith interjected, but shrugged. “I know if I was your mom, I would appreciate the call.”

“Smith…”

“No Ross, he’s right,” Trott said. He dug into his pocket, tapping his phone awake. The light hurt his tired eyes, and he swiped down the brightness. He blocked his number, and typed out his mom’s number. His finger dangled over the call button, frozen with anticipation.

“We’ll be right here Chris,” Smith whispered, and Trott looked to him again. Smith’s eyes were soft, despite the tense moment. Looking into Smith’s eyes, Trott hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear. It rang half a dozen times, each second longer than the last. Trott was both sad and relieved when the voicemail message came up. He looked away when he knew the beep was coming.

“Hey mom, it’s me. I know I haven-”

“Chris? Chris is that you?” Trott’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his mom’s voice. He brought his hand up to his mouth and doubled over. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Hey momma, yeah it’s me.”

“Oh Sunshine, thank all of the stars in the sky!” Trott closed his eyes and knew he was crying. She sounded so tired, so overwhelmed. Trott felt a hand on his shoulder and he sobbed softly around his hand. “Oh Chris, please tell me you’re okay.” Trott took a second while he tried to breathe.

“I’m okay mom, I’m just glad to hear from you,” he settled for.

“Ashton has been asking after you.” Trott stiffened, but made himself breathe through the panic. “He comes by to check up on me every week.”

“I’m sure he has mom.”

“He’s been weird ever since you left.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Chris, did you leave because of him?” Trott covered his mouth as he silently cried.

“Yes momma.” There was a long silence, and Trott could hear a screen door open on the other side of the call. His mom spoke to the dog softly, and was quiet as she probably smoked a cigarette. Trott knew she was thinking. He guessed all he had done was give her time to think.

“You know I love you, and nothing can change that. You are my sunshine Chris.” The hand on Trott’s back rubbed small circles into his shoulder and it helped keep Trott’s mind focused.

“I know momma.”

“You need to believe it, not just know it.” Trott swallowed, and rubbed the tears from his eyes.

“I’ll work on it.”

“I want you to call later this week - I’ll come up with some reasons to have Ashton to bug off.”

“Yes momma. Just…” Trott took a deep breath. “Be careful. Call Sarge if you need anything.” His mom called the dog back in, and slid the door closed. Trott sat up, and Ross and Smith watched him closely: Ross supported him with a smile, and Smith gave him thumb’s up.

“I miss you Chris, call me soon.”

“Miss you too momma. I will.”

 

 --

 

“ _Hey, have you seen Ross?”_ Trott considered the text from Smith: the last time he saw Ross was the night he called his mom, over a week ago. Despite himself, Trott had chalked up to Ross’ distance as not wanting to see him after crying loads onto his carpet and couch and not even trying to clear the air about being somewhat out. Hearing that Smith hadn’t see the Artist-in-Residence however made Trott frown.

“ _No, I haven’t seen him. I’ll keep an eye out tonight on rounds.”_

_“Has he texted you?”_ Trott chewed his lip as he stomped on his boots. The ranger shoved the last of his grilled cheese into his mouth, and holstered his gear.

_“I’ll stop by the cabin now.”_

_“Keep me posted?”_

_“Gotcha. Over, and out.”_ Trott threw his leg over the UTV seat and started up the engine with a heavy pressure in his gut. He wasn’t sure how much Smith knew about Ross’ history with mental health, but Trott should have caught onto the weird behavior. The trees whizzed by as he sped towards the cottage, standing to brace against the small bumps. He could see the white exterior peeking through the thick trunks of the surrounding trees. The sun was high in the sky, bouncing lines off the pond and into Trott’s periphery. 

The ranger wished that Ross had a vehicle, so that the tightness in his chest might ease if he could peek a car in front of the porch; instead, the house looked dark and still. Trott cupped his eyes as he looked in the picture window looking over the porch and lake. He couldn’t see any movement inside, and none of the lights were on. Trott wrestled with the keys and unlocked the front door, knocking as an afterthought. “Ross? Are you home?” he called into the cottage. It was silent, so Trott quickly cleared the building. Ross’s dining room table, now a work table for his art, was messy with newspaper dashed with colors. “ _Smith, over.”_

_“It’s Smith, what’s up?”_

_“Cabin’s empty. Looks like he was working on a new piece, over.”_ The walkie was quiet for a few moments, and Trott walked over to the bedroom, tipping the door open. It was empty too.

_“Maybe he’s installing it?”_

_“I’ll look for him on rounds, over.”_

_“Let me know.”_

_“Copy, over and out.”_

Trott tried to go about his rounds as normally as possible. He counted how long it took to reach each light post along the main strip of road, absently waving and smiling at families as they passed. Trott tried to convince himself that Ross was too invested in this position to disappear, knowing how much Ross was worried about failing his mom and sister. A small part of the ranger hoped that Trott and Smith’s friendship was also a part of that stake in staying, but Trott didn’t know if that was selfish. As he rounded the beaches at Lake Harmony, Trott wished he had checked in with Ross: he had been worried that he had scared away the closest things to friends he had, and was too scared of the outright rejection.

Trott stopped at the northern river banks, staring up at the Fire Watch tower, its high cabin lit. Even Smith was worried, and that unnerved Trott - Smith was a walking beacon of energetic mirth, so to have him upset made Trott, well, upset. Though Trott’s rounds did not take him into the back country, he was tempted to ring Sips and ask him if had seen the Artist-in-Residence; but Trott didn’t want to cry wolf too soon. He would follow protocol, something that soothed the knots from Trott’s worry.

The search for the artist ended at Last Stand - Trott had hoped that he would not find him here. Ross was sprawled along the ground, staring up at the stars. An open bottle of beer rested beside him as Ross’s phone played soft music.

Before the ranger was a tall woven wall of branches, differentiating in colors and textures. Its length was wound to the nearby trees with hemp rope, dark in color: it created a barrier before the precipice. With leaves and tall grass knit into the weave, it spelled “turn around”. On the rock formation that separates the edge from the field between the bridges are rocks, branches, leave bundles, and pine cones strung from clear fishing line, stretching from the top of the rocks to dangle across the smoother face. It was a central figure of dark colored objects standing amidst different and varying silhouettes, the different figures at different depths of the rocks. At the top and bottom of the rocks was geometric painted glass, spelling out “stay with us” and “1-800-273-8255”.

“Heya Trott,” Ross finally said as Trott stood at his feet. The words were barely slurred, only a whisper over the soft music playing.

“Can I sit?”

“Sure can.” It was easier to smell the hops of the beer from sitting beside Ross, but Trott could only see one open bottle. “Wassup ranger?”

“I was worried about you.” Ross rolled his head over to look at Trott, his eyes were glossy, the dark circles heavy against the flush of his cheeks.

“Lil ol’ me?”

“I hadn’t heard from you in days. Neither has Smith.” Ross motioned to the tall woven wall and the strung out rock face. Ross left his arm above his head, playing with the spikes of his hair absently as they sat in silence. Trott noticed Ross fidget with his sweatshirt, something Trott had learned to translate into Ross was thinking about how to say something. “I’m sorry I didn’t check in,” Trott said instead. Ross didn’t look at the ranger, only stared ahead, his lips in a slight pout.

“You don’t have to -”

“Ross. I have only known you for two months, but you are not one to just go off the grid.” Ross said nothing, but shift so his head rested against the ranger’s knee. Trott could feel Ross’s fingers brush against his knee has he worked his hair. “Was it something I said?”

“No,” Ross said quickly. Trott and Ross settled into silence, and Ross’s hand stopped playing with the spikes in his hair. It left them feathery and soft, the grey hairs catching the last few minutes of sunset. “Do you ever wonder how different our lives would be if we changed the wrong no into a yes?” Trott looked around at the art exhibit around him, and wondered if Ross was still thinking about the park, about the other night.

“I do. I think we all do.”

“Trott…” The ranger hummed a reply, and looked down at the artist. Ross stared up at him, his eyes piercingly bright. “Thank you for leaving New Haven.” Trott smiled softly, and rested his hand onto where Ross traced meaningless lines into Trott’s knee.

“Thank you for being an awesome artist.” Ross rolled his eyes but smiled, squeezed Trott’s knee, and scrambled to sit up.

“Alright, come on, take me home. My ass is numb.”

“I am going to have to cite you for that open container ,” Trott said as he pulled Ross to his feet with a small teeter. Ross looked at him, accosted. Trott laughed as Ross tilted shakily over to pick up the bottle and his phone, mumbling under his breath. “I guess a supervised trip home will be in order too.”

“Trott, I swear if you give me a citation, you’re not going to be able to sit for days I’ll kick your ass so hard.” As Trott lead the artist through the wooden part of the fields by the rocks, he pulled out his ticket book and pen.

“Ross Hornby - open bottle, threatening an officer…”

“Disarmingly handsome,” Ross supplied as he stepped through the last of the trees.

“I don’t think I can ticket for that,” Trott jested, dodging the chance to agree.

“Surely that gets me off then.” Trott laughed loudly and climbed into the UTV.

“Sure it does.” Ross smiled, seeming to have missed the innuendo, but Trott smiled all the same. Ross scooted closer to Trott on the bench seat, and braced onto the frame as Trott pulled away from Last Stand. Trott pulled the walkie from his hip and handed it to Ross. “Copy Smith and let him know you’re okay.”

“Were you guys really that worried?” Ross asked as he took the talkie. Trott looked over to the dark haired man. His face must have been enough. “ _Smith, do you copy_?”

“ _Ross_?”

“ _Right-o_.”

“ _Oh thank God. Is Trott there_?”

“ _He’s driving yeah, hence all the background noise_.”

“ _Yeah, definitely feeling like yourself_.”

“ _Movie night tonight at my place_?” The system was quiet for a minute and Trott finally reached the road leading to the back cabins.

“ _Yeah, I’ll be there in a few_.”

“ _Drive safe_!”

“ _Rodger rodger_.” Trott pocketed the walkie-talkie, and let himself count the street lights again. Ross was quiet as they drove, his hands on his lap now that the road was smooth. When Trott pulled off of the road onto the slightly worn path to the cottage, Ross turned to him.

“Where are we going?”

“To your cabin?” Ross looked Trott up and down once.

“Not in that.” Trott’s mouth opened but he was at a loss of words. He let the UTV slow as they neared the lake. “You can’t have a successful movie night if you’re in your work clothes.”

“I didn’t know I was coming,” Trott supplied instead. Ross gave him a sassy eyebrow and tutted. He motioned towards the direction of the ranger’s cabin.

“What kind of friend would I be to invite you in front of our other friend? Have you no faith, little one?” Trott rolled his eyes, but turned the UTV around without another gripe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number in Ross's exhibit is the National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255


	6. Taking Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ranger is making strides - but does he know where he's going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a certain person that appears in this chapter, the conversation may be triggering (manipulative, controlling behavior); mentions of alcohol, mentions of scars

The bite of winter was in the air on Halloween weekend. The park had closed the beach-front cottages around Lake Harmony due to the change of the season coming up, which meant Trott had more free time. Well, everyone had more free time really. Ross, Smith, and Trott made movie night a weekly routine, picking the cheesiest movies to laugh at until they all passed out in Ross’s living room. Ross’ Last Stand exhibit got into the paper, and Trott continued to check in with his mom. October had gone swimmingly for the ranger as he got his job duties under his belt and grew confident with his place in Twin Rivers. He had learned when Lewis was serious and when he was being protective; learned that when he called Sips for a trail maintenance job, he would have to suffer a dad joke; and learned that Kim and Mark were two sides of the same nerdy coin. Besides the phone calls to his mom, New Haven seemed lifetimes ago.

Until Ashton walked in the front door of the Clubhouse.

“Oh my God!” Katie turned around from organizing, squealing from the loud crash of Trott’s coffee mug against the floor. It sounded far away. The air around Trott smelled like the overpriced aftershave Ashton used every night. He looked perfect, well-trimmed and all smile. Trott froze under his gaze. “Chris?”

“Oh Christopher, imagine seeing you here,” Ashton said, in his sing-song tone.

“Same to you,” Trott managed evenly. He breathed through his nose, his chest burning. He turned slightly to Katie, but didn’t take his eyes off his unwelcomed guest. “Katie, can you go get Smith?” The ranger counted all his lucky stars when she turned on a dime and went towards the back offices. Once it was just them two, Ashton’s facade fell.

“How could you hurt me like this babe?”

“Do not, not here Ashton.”

“When you left, I was so confused - I was so good to you, and you abandoned me.” Ashton stepped closer, calm and cool. Trott refused to step back. “After everything I did for you, after all the accommodations, you left our home. You ditched all your responsibilities and your mother. How could you be so selfish? We were going to get married… you’ll always be mine - Mr. and Mr. Ashton Lew-”

“That’s enough!”

“Trott?” Smith’s voice was like sirens in a quiet night. Trott looked back to him as he left the employee hallway and Trott managed to take a breath. The ranger watched Smith look around the room to the broken ceramic to Trott, to Ashton. “Everything good Trott?”

“ _Trott_?” Ashton sneered, halting in his approach to the ranger. “Does no one know you like I do?” Trott held up his hand, turning back to Ashton. His perfect smile was back - Trott hated the look of it.

“Sir, if you’re not here to enjoy the park, I’m going have to ask you find your enjoyment elsewhere,” Trott said instead. Ashton’s facade melted for a moment, but he stitched together another of his award-winning grins. He walked towards the counter, and Smith approached Trott at the same pace. He crunched a piece of ceramic under his boot - Trott could feel the heat of him at his side.

“Your new toy isn’t going to intimidate me Christopher,” Ashton said, but he plucked a pamphlet from the display along the front desk. “I was just checking in on my beloved. I can see you’ve lost touch with reality, yet again.” He waved the pamphlet, enough for Trott to see that it was for the cabins near his own cabin. “You’ll realize your mistakes soon, and I’ll be waiting for you, like I always am.” Ashton turned, tucking the brochure into his jacket pocket, and left the Clubhouse without another word.

Trott was seething, his ears and neck hot with embarrassment and fury. Trott couldn’t even count, couldn’t multiply, divide, design - nothing. His mind was loud and blank at the same time. He clenched and unclenched his hands, fighting the urge to scream. The ranger didn’t know what to do - usually Ashton incited fear and doom, but Trott wasn’t scared. The ranger knew he wasn’t trapped here, not like he was in New Haven. Trott closed his eyes, and forced himself to say the German alphabet backwards.

“Trott…” Smith whispered, barely a hush. His fingers were light against Trott’s wrist, but Trott didn’t flinch away. “Please go sit in my office.” Trott looked down at his feet, the puddle of coffee seeping into the small area rug. It was his favorite mug. Smith stopped him from reaching for the mug pieces. “Chris, please.” The fire watch’s voice cracked, and Trott looked up at him. Where Ashton could mask everything, Smith could only conceal his emotions in certain parts of his face, but his eyes gave everything away: he was mad, he was concerned. “Let me do this for you.” Smith leaned over to start cleaning before Trott could argue.

Trott stayed for a moment, staring without really seeing. He realized he was dazed, now that the adrenaline started to slip away. Like suds in the shower, his anger drained as the realization of the moment came to him. Ashton knew where he was - he would be back, with more resolution. Sitting down sounded like a good idea.

Smith didn’t come back into his office for almost ten minutes, Trott realized. The auburn had two cups in his hands, one he set in front of Trott on the desk. The fire watch pushed aside paperwork on his desk, and sipped at his mug, staring at Trott. He could hear Smith’s leg bouncing underneath the desk. It was something that normally irked Trott, but Smith’s idle twitch had grown on Trott over the last few weeks.

“How’s Katie?”

“Good, worried about you, but good.” Trott spun the spoon in his cup. “So that was Ashton.” Smith’s tone was measured, and Trott appreciated the restraint. Trott took a drink of the coffee, made to his liking. Could have used a few more ice cubes, but Trott was touched at the sweetness. He glanced over to the office door, making sure it was closed.

“Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“What are you, my therapist?” Smith sighed pointedly, but didn’t push the issue. Trott couldn’t look at Smith, not yet. Eye contact would be too much, it would mean too much. Say too much. Trott breathed and stirred his coffee. “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help.”

“I realized who it was too late into the conversation.” Smith leaned back in his seat, pivoting to look out of his window. “I feel terrible for not doing anything.”

“Smith - it’s not like I expected you to do anything. I just -” Trott paused, juggling the words. “Needed you there with me.” Smith looked back at the ranger, but Trott stared at his own hands. The beats of silence were hard, Trott almost feared the next words - Smith was usually a roaring river, strong-willed and inescapable. He said what he wanted, and only the things he meant. The fact that there was hesitation worried Trott that Smith was going to say something the ranger didn’t want to hear.

“Do you think he intended to hurt you?” The question scared Trott. If he had, what would Trott have done? The gun was heavy at his hip, but he had completely forgotten it in the lobby. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.” The ranger looked at Smith. Smith’s eyes were burning bright again; it was a relief to see the sentiment wasn’t a lie. Trott wanted to cry.

“I know Alex.” Trott rested a hand on Smith’s, giving the fire watch a small squeeze. “I know.”

 

\---

 

Trott wasn’t usually afraid of heights, but the creaking floorboards of the fire tower started to unnerve the ranger. He gripped the railing and instead looked out to the park. Trott bargained that he could see the entire park from this tower, even the neighboring property. The ranger never realized how much of the park was backcountry, so much of it untrekked.

“This is amazing Smith,” the ranger said as he walked into the cabin proper. Inside, Smith was fiddling with the radio, flicking the antenna and twisting the knob. Trott sat on the full-sized mattress and stared around the room. There were windows on each wall, long panes that stretched along the horizon. There was not much furniture: a bed, a table, a couple of chairs, and some built-in storage. It was still cozy however - there were blankets everywhere, accompanied by throw pillows.

The bed was more pillow than mattress, and it took all of Trott to not lay down. The park’s first snow had attracted a lot of patrons, and the last few nights had been late ones. Trott could feel the tension in his shoulders from the emergency CPR he had to administer at 2AM this morning for almost a half hour because a teenager had fallen into the lake. Sips had talked him into taking the rest of the day off. Half of the staff was gone for the holiday - it was just him, Smith, and Sips on campus. Sips was manning the Clubhouse, occupying the admin bedroom so Trott could have the night off. Trott had roped Smith into baking Sips thank-you cookies, which had turned into an impromptu sleepover in the fire tower.

“I have to run down and grab the air mattress, try not to fall asleep on my bed,” Smith teased before he practically skipped down the steps to his off-season cabin. Trott forced himself to stand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He walked to the table, picking up his barely-warm coffee mug from its well-used coaster. Now that Smith had perfected Trott’s coffee order, Smith always supplied the ranger with a mug before doing anything together. It left Trott wondering if he knew his mom’s own coffee order. Ross had laughed when Trott asked him if Smith knew his: Smith was more likely to order Ross his drinks at the bar than craft his coffee. Ross had said it’s just how Smith shows he cares - by paying attention when you think he’s not.

Trott looked around; today was the first time he was in Smith’s place. He hadn’t looked around the house too much. For being detailed-oriented at work, Trott turned off his precision while off-duty. The ranger realized he couldn’t recall if Smith’s kitchen tile was grey or blue. So Trott took in the room around him, determined to be attentive. Sipping at his coffee, he let his eyes trail over the woodwork of the cabin, the southwestern design of the rough blankets, the multitude of textured throw pillows. It was eclectic, but not chaotic or abrasive. The muted browns and red undertones helped make the space feel grounded against the jaw-dropping heights outside.

The ranger ran his hand over the desk, the carpentry clean and flush. It was cluttered with papers, just like Smith’s office desk. But what caught Trott’s eye was the black photo box, its lid propped open. Peeking inside, Trott realized it was full of Polaroids, postcards, and glossy photos. Above the box, climbing the frame of the window, were more of them. One was a postcard of Twin Rivers, with the fire tower silhouette: it was stamped with the park’s seal, and lazy handwriting scrawled along the side: ‘Glad you found your calling Alex. xoxo, with extra hugs’. Beside it was a picture of the falls underneath Smith’s cabin, with someone clinging to one of the rocks and waving - the word “plunge” was written to match the flow of water. There was a news article clipping, curling at the edges; it read ‘you are a hero son, never forget that’ in one pen color, and ‘XOXOWEH!’ in another.

Near the bottom were two Polaroids, and he recognized Ross immediately. It was a picture of Ross sleeping, his head on someone’s lap, presumably Smith’s. The photo was taken from above, with the only light being from a television. In white fine Sharpie, the word ‘flutter’ was written over Smith’s chest in the lower corner. The other Polaroid was from when Trott and Smith were balancing rocks - Trott was standing next to the last pile, a small smile on his face. ‘Help me pick up the pieces’ was written, one word on each rock. Trott smiled at the memory.

“God, I hate those stairs,” Smith exclaimed as he walked through the door. It made Trott jump, but he secured his coffee. Trott turned around to see Smith staring at him.

“These are nice, Smith,” Trott said, motioning to the collection of memories made real. Smith didn’t say anything, and put the air mattress box down on the floor near the bed. Trott wondered if he had crossed a line, peeping around Smith’s desk without him there. He stood there, unknowing of what to do now that he was caught. “I’m sor-”

“Trott, please don’t apologize,” Smith interrupted. “I just forgot they were there.”

“I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s okay,” Smith offered, and he approached the desk. Trott studied the fire watch’s face, but didn’t find anger there. He seemed sad.

“Are these from your parents?” Trott asked. All Smith did was nod as he unpinned the postcard from the wall. Trott wondered if this was the first time he had seen these since his foster-mother’s passing this year. Trott hovered closer to Smith, not knowing how to console him. “This must be hard for you Smith.” The fire watch bit the inside of his cheek, and Trott watched him try to blink away tears. Trott stood helplessly by his friend as he stared at his mementos.

“She was the one that encouraged me to volunteer here. I was filling out paperwork to dropout of high school when she knocked on my bedroom door,” Smith said, his voice low and shaky. “She said that if I volunteered for 40 hours, she would sign my withdrawal forms. Sips’ mom was a patient at my mom’s nursing home, so he agreed to let me volunteer with him.” Smith flipped through the photo box, pulling out a Polaroid of a young Sips and an even younger Smith, sitting on a UTV. “I was never so sure of anything in my life - I begged Sips to hire me on the spot.” Smith pulled out a folded piece of paper. He laid it out in front of Trott - it was a letter addressed to Smith. “Old Sipsy was lead supervisor back then - oh I know right? - he offered me a deal: if I graduated high school, and my GPA for the last 3 semesters was at least a cumulative 3.30, I had a guaranteed position as a ranger.” Smith smiled as he looked at Trott. “That was Lewis’s first year as lead supervisor, and boy did having a green ranger drive him wild.”

“You look happy here,” Trott said, pointing at the picture again. Smith was in the driver’s seat, with Sips leisurely sprawled in the passenger seat. Smith was beaming, his hands on the wheel, Sips and him wearing matching baseball caps. When Smith didn’t say anything, Trott looked up; Smith was looking at Trott, his eyes soft.

“I am happy here.” Smith turned towards Trott, leaning on the desk. “Are you happy here Trott?” Trott wanted to look away from Smith, but his eyes were too earnest, too eager.

“That’s kind of a loaded question Smith,” he offered cautiously. Trott was relieved when it didn’t dampen Smith’s mood, so he continued. “I’m glad to start over.” Smith nodded, seeming to weigh the answer for its worth. Smith walked over to one of the counters and opened the ice box. From it, he withdrew two brown-glass bottles.

“Well, how about we cheers to new memories?” Trott took the bottle after Smith opened it on the desk’s edge. Trott could drink to that.  

Trott and Smith spent the better part of the evening going through the rest of the fire watch’s photo box and sharing stories. Between the two of them, they had finished the small stash of beers Smith kept in the tower. Smith’s skin was flushed, and his laugh was loud and energetic. They had redistributed the pillows around the room so they could both sit on the bed, the box of mementos between them. Trott’s cheeks hurt from laughing so much at the funny pictures and funnier stories. He bent over to bury his face into a pillow to laugh as Smith retold a story from his ranger days. The ranger was feeling airy, his fifth beer knocking him over into the drunk category. IPAs were not the ranger’s favorite, but Smith had promised it was a good make, and he was right.

“So yeah, now I have to have my own so I stop wrecking all the park’s UTVs.”

“I can’t believe it took that long! I’m not riding with you anymore,” Trott teased.

“You know I’m a fun ride,” Smith chided, and Trott rolled his eyes and smiled at the innuendo. “You must like to have fun sometimes.”

“I like to have fun,” Trott retorted, drinking the last of his beer.

“You and fun are like water and oil.”

“Well you and being rude is like water and sugar.” Smith chuckled, and shook his head.

“You were probably one of those people that were studying your pristine class notes instead of going out in college.” Trott laughed outright, doubling over again.

“I went out every weekend, minimally. The bouncers knew me blindfolded.”

“You? Going out?”

“Oh, the stories I could tell you about all the disastrous blind-dates I went on at _Canal_ , oh my God! There was this one guy who-” Trott paused, realizing what he had said. He suddenly wished there was more in his bottle.

“Who what? Come on Trott, you can’t just build it up like that!” Smith said instead, and Trott realized that Smith already knew. Trott had people who knew, Trott had people he didn’t have to hide from - for the first time in over a year, Trott didn’t have to edit himself or his date’s gender.

“H-He thought he was being clever when he pronounced it c-anal,” Trott finished and Smith laughed, oblivious to the revelation Trott was tumbling through.

“At least I’m not _that_ bad!” Trott smiled softly, looking at the flushed auburn across from him.

“No, you’re quite harmless comparatively.” Smith shrugged, his bottle swinging in his hand.

“What can I say, I’m a lover not a fighter.”

“You sure do offer to “defend my honor” a lot for a pacifist.” Trott couldn’t tell if he imagined the twitch in Smith’s expression, for it was gone by the time he blinked. Trott looked down at the pictures again, trying to remember what exactly he said - did he say something wrong? Trott cursed the beer as he tried to push the mental fuzz aside. “How did you come up with this?” Trott asked instead, pointing to a Polaroid with words written on it. He just wanted the silence to end - anything was better than speculating a mistake. “This is cool Smith.”

“It was just something me and my mom used to do on stuff - placemats, newspapers. I just carried it over,” Smith said, his voice even. He didn’t sound mad at least, and that was enough for Trott to shake the anxiety. Though the lightness of his buzz had been interrupted, it still clung to his mind. It made his tongue loose and his worries scatter - something he needed right now.

“Have you showed Ross these? He would like them.” Smith laughed and took a swig of his bottle.

“Unlike myself, Ross is a real artist.” Trott carded through the pictures, choosing one of his favorite photographs. It was from Smith’s first harness training day - Smith had said he was 50 feet down on the harness and just snapped the picture looking up at the helicopter's underbelly. The red of the helicopter was pungent against the blue and white of the sky above, with bold black lines as rotor blades. The field of focus was centered on the chopper’s belly, and that emphasized the length of the rope as it blurred out to the photo’s edge. It was framed with the dark tips of the trees, keeping the eyes moving inside the photo.

“This -” Trott showed Smith the photo- “is art Smith. I only took basic levels of art to graduate, but I know color, composition, and movement sound important.” Trott leaned into the center and picked up another picture, where Smith drew ivy vines climbing the fire tower. “And this stuff is something the cool kids call mixed media - and it’s very hip.” Smith grabbed Trott’s hand as he reached into the pile again. Trott was overwhelmed with the smell of citra, hops, and dark chocolate as he looked up to Smith: Trott noted that Smith was closer than he expected. He also noted the barely-noticeable freckles that spotted Smith’s nose, and the gradient of his irises. Smith’s lips were chapped, and Trott licked his own. The ranger didn’t lean back, the pressure of Smith’s hand around his seeming to lock him into place. He wondered if Smith would taste like the beer, or if he would taste sweeter. The ranger counted to five.

“Thank you, Chris,” Smith said instead, letting go of Trott’s hand and leaning back. It took the ranger a second as his stomach dropped. His mouth was dry as he sat back again. His mind was swimming, but all he could do was look at Smith. Smith still held his gaze, his lips parted slightly as he balanced his beer on his knee. Trott’s chest was warm and tight, but not paralyzing like he was used to. This wasn’t panic, Trott realized and he looked away from the fire watch before him. He instead looked out the window, where only the moon lit the surrounding woods.

“I-I’m sorry,” Trott said dumbly. Trott was surprised by Smith’s hand on his chin, turning his head so he would look at Smith. The fire watch’s hands were hot and it sent a tang of heat to Trott’s stomach.

“No more sorry’s, remember?” Smith said coolly with a small smirk. Trott sighed softly when Smith took his hand away. “One day you’re going to stop hiding behind your apologies and take a risk, Trott.” Smith stood, downing the last of his beer. He plucked Trott’s empty bottle and put them in the recycling bin with the rest of them.

Trott was dumbfounded, trying to dissect what Smith had said. This was the issue with Smith - though he was outspoken, he was often cryptic and almost never clarified. Ross would joke it was a power-move, and that Smith was a sadist - and in this moment, Trott was inclined to agree. What kind of risk? And risk for who? Trott shook his head, trying not to imagine kissing Smith. Of all the people in the park, Ross and Smith were his friends, his confidants. He didn’t want things to get messy - but here he sat, affronted with not only having to deal with his inklings for Ross, but now his drunk-enhanced attraction for Smith.

“Come on Trott, the beer is making me sleepy and we still need to set up your bed.” Smith was handsy as he moved around Trott in the cabin, and each touch was static that danced along Trott’s skin. He let himself be moved and ushered around the room, collecting pillows and blankets as the loud motor filled the mattress. Trott took the photo box and put it on the desk once more, and stood with an armful of blankets at the head of the mattress. Smith was crouched at the other side, kneading the mattress to tests its firmness.

Had Trott really not noticed how handsome Smith was before now? The low light of the cabin made his auburn curls almost brown, and his eyes were bright against the light flush on his cheeks and nose. Smith was tall, broad in the shoulders, and Trott knew he was strong. Where Trott had to actively work on his physique, Smith seemed to have a reserve of muscle hiding amongst his soft chest and stomach. His pajama pants were tight in the thighs and Trott changed how he was holding the blankets, just in case. Trott realized how bad he had it, sad that the mattress was done inflating, and soon he was expected to sleep. Despite the long day, sleep was one of the last things on his mind.

Smith flicked off the cabin’s light, and padded his way past Trott. “Into bed with you,” Smith said quietly, his hand on Trott’s back. Trott had to bite his tongue and crawled onto the mattress. He fuddled with the pillows and blankets as Smith practically fell onto his own mattress. Trott watched Smith shed his shirt, the moonlight falling onto his shoulders and jawline as he looked down at the ranger. His face was in a shadow, but Trott knew Smith was watching him. With the rolling heat in his gut, he took off his own shirt, only breaking eyesight to tug it over his head. Trott could see Smith lean forward, leaning onto his elbows as he lowered himself to Trott’s level. Trott flinched when Smith thumbed the scar tissue on his collarbone, but didn’t look away. “You deserve so much better Chris.”

“I know Alex.” Trott rested a hand on Smith’s, and he could feel his own heart pounding against their hands. “I know.”

 

\---

 

Trott knocked on Ross’s door, balancing his mom’s prized twice-baked sweet potatoes in the other hand. He had spent the last two nights in New Haven, sleeping on his mom’s couch and catching up. As tradition, Trott and his mom spent Thanksgiving Eve cooking, and tasting as they cooked, and sneaking more than tastes as the other pretended not to notice. He was on-call for Thanksgiving weekend, but he was glad he spent time with his mom - it had been his first trip home since he left.

“Oi, you’re here! Come on in,” Ross greeted, a beige cooking apron wrapped around him. He had the looks of flour on his cheek, and Trott smiled as he entered the cottage. The smell of delicious foods filled his nose, and he walked towards the kitchen. It was a small Thanksgiving potluck, just for Sips, Smith, Ross and himself. Smith and Ross had talked him out of the day-cooking in exchange he would go visit his mom.

“It’s Trotty!” Sips half-yelled from his station near the slow-mixer.

“He’s pretty buzzed, just a fair warning,” Ross whispered as he took the dish from Trott, and rounded the corner into the kitchen. “How’s the mashed potatoes coming Sips?”

“These are going to be the best damn mashed potatoes you have ever tasted in your whole life.” Trott stood in the living room and looked through the pass-through window linking into the kitchen. The counter was full of food: a perfectly brown turkey, a small well-dressed ham, and a ton of sides and bread. From the smell of it, there was gravy on the stove still, and the stuffing was hiding somewhere.

“Here you go ranger,” Sips said, handing Trott a deep puce drink. “We skimped out on the cranberry sauce for some good old sauced cranberries.” It was tart with the cranberry juice and spiced rum, especially with Sips’ heavy hand on the rum. Ross motioned Trott into the kitchen through the window, and Trott rounded the corner into the dining room. Smith was putting the final touches on setting the table, for once being used for a meal instead of one of Ross’ projects. It wasn’t big enough to set all the food on, but big enough where they wouldn’t be eating on top of one another. When Smith noticed Trott, he lifted his drink to him.

“How is your mom, Trott?” the fire watch asked as he neared the ranger.

“She’s good - it was nice to be home,” Trott supplied, standing next to Smith. “Thanks for convincing me to go.” Smith put a hand on Trott’s shoulder and smiled.

“I’m glad you got to see her. How’s the pupper?” Trott smiled and took a drink. Smith was such an animal-person, it was a surprise he hadn’t convinced Lewis that the park needed a Clubhouse pet.

“Good, spoiled with all the cooking scraps.”

“Perfect!” Smith laughed, and the two walked into the kitchen. Ross was scooping the gravy into a ceramic boat, and Sips was standing behind him with his head on Ross’ shoulders, humming Margaritaville and slowly shifting his hips from side to side to the melody.

“God Sips, how many punches have you had?” Smith asked through a chuckle, heading to the oven to pull out the stuffing. Sips was quiet for a minute, counting on his fingers.

“At least one.” The room was filled with laughter, and Trott realized he was happy - for the first time in a while, life was good and he felt safe. Ross looked over to him, and gave him a soft smile, mouthing the words “you good?” Trott nodded, supplying a thumb’s up and a smile. Ross grinned wider, and turned back to the food in front of him.

“Alright everyone - grab your plates and fucking come and get it.”

Saying the food was impeccable was an understatement. Trott had a little bit of everything, and seconds of his favorites, such as the Best Mashed Potatoes, his mom’s sweet potatoes, and the honeyed sweet ham. Sips was making small sandwiches with the dinner rolls, stuffing them with green bean casserole, stuffing, both potatoes and injecting gravy through a well-designed knife hole. He moaned loudly with every bite, and Smith and him shared innuendos. Trott sat back, his stomach full of good food and a few cups of punch.

“Thank you for making all of this.”

“You need to kiss your mum for these sweet potatoes Trotty,” Sips mumbled around his food. The ranger laughed and nodded.

“I’ll let her know you approve.”

“You think she would marry me and make them for me?” That earned Sips a table of laughs, and Trott had to wipe his eyes. “Come on! Old Sipsy still got it!”

“Sips, you’re too much,” Ross chuckled, standing with his plate. “You and Trott are on dish-duty, so get your patooties in the kitchen!” Sips whined, but still stood and gathered Smith’s plate and walked into the kitchen. Sips was talkative while they did the dishes, but it was harmless chatter. He was lazily swiping the dishes, while Trott rinsed and racked them. Ross collected the leftovers, divvying up the portions into four containers for them to take home. The four of them talked as the last of the dishes were cleaned, and Sips gave himself a bubble beard. He giggled as the bubbles popped and it made Trott laugh enough to hide his face in his elbow.

“Alright children, I need to go to bed - don’t stay up too late, and no alcohol,” Sips wagged his finger as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Trott at the sink. Ross smiled and rolled his eyes, but walked with Sips to his bedroom, getting the room ready. Trott poured himself another punch as Smith tucked the containers into the fridge. Ever since their impromptu sleepover, Trott has wondered what Smith meant about risks and reevaluated his own feelings. Trott tried not read into the long glances or the kind words - he didn’t want to ruin what he had with Smith. Especially if it meant sacrificing these moments with the four of them.

“This was a pretty good Thanksgiving,” Smith said, his drink in hand as he leaned against the counter.

“You and Ross are amazing cooks,” Trott said, drying his hands at the sink. Smith had a look in his eyes, but Trott couldn’t place it.

“What’re you thinking about, Smith?” The fire watch was quiet, swirling his drink.

“Do you think I should go home for Christmas?” The question was unexpected at first, but the ranger considered it.

“I think it’s more important if you think you should go home.” Smith bounced his leg, and he worried his lip. Ross passed the window and looked at Trott. He looked concerned, and picked up the pace around the wall.

“Hey, wassup?”

“Do you think I should go home Ross?”

“You really shouldn’t drive right now Sm-”

“Not - no. Like, home-home.” Ross looked puzzled, but Trott could see the pieces falling into place.

“Have you been home since…?” Smith only shook his head, eyes glued to the floor at his feet. Ross approached Smith, leaning next to him against the counter. Smith rested his head on Ross’s shoulder, keeping his thousand-yard stare on neither of them. Trott wanted to console Smith - but he didn’t know what to do. Trott didn’t have enough confidence to navigate these triangular situations, and he knew he was overcomplicating things. He took a deep breath and walked to his friends. Smith perched his arm behind Trott, close but not touching - Trott tried not to read into it.

“Do you want to go home Smith?”

“Yeah, but no. It - it won’t be the same.” Smith dragged his free hand down his face. He looked over to Trott, lifting his head from Ross’s shoulder.

“Smith, a few months ago, you told me to call my mom, and I have yet to regret that decision. I want you to have the same relief.” Trott patted the fire watch’s arm and Smith smiled lightly.

“You’ll be here alone for Christmas though.” Trott smiled and shrugged.

“We can have Christmas on New Year’s, just the three of us,” Ross suggested.

“I would like that. But we can only do that if Smith goes home for Christmas proper,” Trott stated, and Ross smiled at Trott. Smith made disapproving noises, but seemed to surrender when he realized Ross wasn’t on his side. Smith raised his hands and shrugged.

“Alright, you guys win. Teaming up on me,” Smith pushed off the counter, retrieving his drink from behind Trott. Ross put up his hand for a fist bump, which Trott supplied.

“Besides, Trott will have old Sipsy to keep him company,” Ross said as the three of them made their way to the living room. Smith had lost the rock-paper-scissors for the air mattress that was next to the pull-out couch; but they all crowded onto the couch as Ross put on a horror film. Ross pulled the blanket up to his face, with only his eyes, wide and unblinking, exposed. He was close to Trott, pressed against his side. But Smith, in all his cool veneer, was the one that tangled around Trott, his arm an anchor for Smith to hold onto for his life. Smith was a very vocal horror movie consumer, where Ross was still and silent.

At some points, Trott found it hard to focus on the movie, with Smith’s hot breath on his neck and Ross pressed along his chest and hip. Trott idly wondered what he had done to endure this torment, of wanting but unable to have. Smith’s words of taking risk rung in his ears during the slow parts of plot. Trott looked sidelong at Smith; his attention was undivided on the movie. His lips were parted, almost pursed in concentration. His grip on Trott’s arm was loose, and his thumb traced small circles on his bicep.

Trott looked back at the movie, and took a breath - might as well. Trott slightly fixed his position, and rested his hand on Smith’s thigh, closer to his knee. He saw Smith move his head, but ignored any look Smith was giving him. Smith rested his head on Trott’s shoulder, humming softly as he squeezed the ranger’s arm. Trott wondered if Smith could hear his heart racing. The movie was somehow harder to focus on, Trott now hyper aware of his hand on Smith’s thigh. What if Ross saw - what if he didn’t?

Trott had found it near impossible to dampen the flame he held for Smith, but was worried about how his attraction for Ross was not declining either. Trott had heard of poly relationships in college - but never considered it for himself. He had never thought he could trick one person, let alone more, into wanting his company. But now, sitting between his two friends, it was becoming more and more of a consideration. Trott worried it was only ever going to be a hope, a miracle.

That’s why when Ross’s hand found his, Trott was surprised. Ross’s hand was light and slow, tracing the ranger’s knuckles before curling over it. Ross pulled away slightly when Trott turned his wrist and opened his hand. Trott looked over to Ross, who ignored him, pointedly staring at the television, despite the scene only being dialogue. The irony was not lost on Trott, as he found Ross’s hand again. He feathered his fingers between Ross’ and caressed Ross’ thumb as the artist gave his hand a squeeze. Trott smiled as Ross leaned into Trott more, bringing their hands to the bundled blanket in Ross’s lap. Trott turned back to the movie, and sighed happily. Trott leaned his head on Smith’s and closed his eyes, breathing in Smith’s shampoo and soaking in the body heat.

Whatever this was, Trott would figure it out later.

 


	7. Of True Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holidays are always bittersweet. This winter at the Park is no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this is pretty intense! Take care of yourself!  
> CW: alcohol use, contact with past abuser, criminal activity, dissociation and high-stress situations

The credits of  _ Home Alone 2: Lost in New York _ scrolled along the screen as Trott collected the pizza boxes piled on Sips’ coffee table. The two of them had decided to forgo the usual Christmas dinner, neither of them wanting to do dishes. Luckily for them, one of the pizza shops in town had realized the potential business opportunity  several years ago, and now it had grown to be a tradition in some households. Sips knew the shop owner on a first name basis, and left a generous tip in the plastic jar with a Christmas tree painted onto it.

Sips and Trott had to go on their night rounds, even though the rentals were closed for the holiday week. Sips had practically pushed Lewis out of the Clubhouse as the Park Supervisor gave the redundant lecture of how important these rounds were even with an empty campus, and blah blah blah. Trott was a firm believer in following protocol, despite Sips’ small whines about wanting to get to bed. Trott assured Sips he could do the rounds alone, but Sips wouldn’t have that either.

It was Sips’ turn to drive the UTV, which meant Trott’s cabin was going to be the last stop of the night. Trott threw his day-bag over his shoulder as Sips mummified himself with his scarves, one around his neck and the other wrapped around his balding head. Trott dragged his slouch beanie over his ears and slipped on his leather gloves, dreading the long drive back to his cabin. Sips’ apartment was in town, only a stumble away from the Pub, but the rounds took about an half hour to complete on the UTV. 

“This alone should prove how much I love you, kid,” Sips grumbled through his scarf.

“I told you, you can stay home and just radio me every five minutes,” Trott retorted with a smile.

“You’d get lost.” Trott rolled his eyes and chuckled at his coworker. Sips was the closest thing to a dad-figure Trott could have. Even his police chief was not as invested in Trott’s safety - the ranger truly appreciated the older man’s concern. The year at the precinct had conditioned him to be tough and rugged, both inside and out. There was no understanding nods or insightful suggestions in the police academy, only cold stares and quiet judgment. Talks at the water cooler were shallow and short, and no one wanted to know the other’s dirty laundry. Trott now realized it was a breeding ground for his situation in New Haven: things like partner violence and queerness were ammo for someone to have against you, things that came up in talks about promotions and cases. The ranger couldn’t imagine anyone here selling him out for a bigger office.   

The half hour passed quickly, not a peep in the park. Snow speckled the road near the back cabins, having blown off the low-drooping branches of the evergreens. If it stayed as cold as it had been, the snow would be here to stay for a while yet. Trott had to hop out and help push the UTV up one of the hills near his cabin. It was probably six inches where the two of them had packed the snow into a path Monday, but it was higher on the banks. The headlights of the UTV washed out the color of the dark trunks and lush greens, dulling them to monochromatic greys. It looked like something out of an old horror movie, the fuzz of snow making the sky grainy.

When they pulled up to Trott’s cabin, Trott turned around to pluck his bag from the back when Sips grabbed his shoulder. The ranger looked to his friend, but Sips’ eyes were on the cabin. Trott squinted to where Sips was looking but couldn’t see anything. Sips killed the engine, but kept the headlights on. He stepped out of the UTV, his hand hovering near his holster.

“What’s up Sips?”  

“Stay in the UTV, Trott.” The older man was serious and it made Trott’s hair stand on edge. Trott looked around again, trying to see what Sips saw. That’s when he realized that something was off - Trott watched his front door swing on its hinges, the snow-peppered breeze pushing it open. The window to its left was broken, the spider-fracture barely catching the beams of lights. Trott climbed out of the UTV, standing at its nose to get a better look. Sips slowly advanced to the porch, circling the door as he looked in. 

Trott didn’t want to be right, but he knew who was inside. He could feel the old veil of numbness overcome him, starting with his fingers and toes and working inwards. “Do not leave that UTV, Trott.” The ranger already felt far away.

“Do you see him?” Sips made no effort to answer Trott, but instead stepped onto the porch, nudging the yellow door open with his boot. Sips melted into the shadows of the dark cabin, and Trott stepped around to try and get a visual of Sips. Trott could see the line of Sips’ flashlight as it swept around the living room. The silhouettes and shadows were chaotic and unfamiliar. Trott wandered near the porch, peering into the darkness of his home.  The silence was heavy, as if all of the snow had fallen onto the ranger’s shoulders. Trott realized he wasn’t breathing.

The light upstairs flicked on, and Sips’ body was dark against the yellowish light. Trott could see Sips’ lips moving, but nothing met his ears. All Trott could hear was his blood rushing, and Trott tried to re-enter his own consciousness. Trott shook his hands trying to stop dissociating, clawing against himself to come back into the moment. It hit him all at once, the cold against his face, the tightness of his clothes, the smells of alcohol and gasoline, the sounds of Sips’ commands and the whirl of the wind. Trott could taste the gasoline in the air, making him gag and reel away from the door. He rounded the corner of his porch to escape the smell. The snow was up to his knees now, and it soaked through his jeans. 

Trott looked down to see deep pits of footprints, and watched them lead to the small shed out back. Its door was open, different tools lying haphazardly at the doorway. There was an upturned orange gas canister.

Sips.

Trott rounded the building again and pushed into the living room, his head pounding. When he flicked on the overhead light, he was greeted with upturned furniture, destroyed ceramics, an absolute storm of anything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. There were puddles and streaks of gasoline connecting the kitchen and living room. Trott crunched broken glass as he stepped helplessly into the room.

“This is your last chance, put down the gun.” Trott’s head snapped to watch Sips stand with his pistol in hand, pointing towards the ranger’s bed.

“Where is he?” 

“Put down the gun.”

“Where is that piece of shit?!”

“I do not want to hurt you.” The empty click seemed to echo into the cabin, but Trott cried out regardless. Trott fell to his knees at the foot of his steps. Ashton tried to shoot Sips. Ashton had found the emergency key to the gun safe in the shed. If Trott hadn’t returned his extra ammo to the armoury, thanks to his paranoia, Sips would be dying upstairs and Ashton would be coming down to deal with him. Trott’s stomach emptied itself as he doubled over. He could feel his eyes flutter and his head feel light.

“Please don’t pass out, please don’t pass out, please,” he chanted under his breath, trying to breathe through his panic. The pungent gasoline smell punched through Trott in waves of nausea, but he stood shakily, his hand on the railing. Trott carefully put one foot in front of the other as he climbed the steps. He could hear the sounds of struggle, but there was no sign of Sips or Ashton. As he climbed the second bend of the stairs, Trott could see Sips pinning Ashton to the floor, handcuffing his hands behind his back. Sips was calm, reciting Ashton his Miranda Rights. Ashton and the ranger locked eyes, and it took all of Trott not to buckle under the weight of the situation.

“You were supposed to be here - I was going to bring you home.” Ashton struggled under Sips’ weight, and Sips leaned forward, his forearm on the back of Ashton’s shoulders. “You make it so hard to love you Christopher.” 

The sounds of an engine hummed outside and the sound of boots crunching glass filled the room, but Trott only stared at Ashton’s face. The officers pushed pass Trott on the steps, and Sips stood with Ashton. Ashton was speaking but Trott could only focus on the smell of alcohol on him - a bourbon that always preceded the worst nights Trott had in New Haven. Trott let the numbness protect him once again and recited Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, closing his eyes to escape the moment. Sips handed Ashton to the officers, and then descended to Trott. His hand was on Trott’s shoulder and his voice was even, but Trott wasn’t with his friend in the cabin.

Trott realized where he was when Sips put a hand to his cheek. He was sitting in Sips’ car. The radio was quiet, classical strings and heat wafted into the car. Trott didn’t remember the UTV ride to the Clubhouse, nor putting on his seatbelt in the Buick.

“Are you with me, Trott?” The ranger gave a small nod, rubbing his eyes. “Do you know where you are?”

“We’re at the station,” Trott answered, looking to the building to his right. His brain was fuzzy around the edges, but like waking from a dream slowly, Trott felt himself coming back. “They’re going to question me.”

“Yes.”

“Did you give your statement yet?”

“Yes. At the Clubhouse.” Trott looked back at Sips.

“Why didn’t they take mine?”

“Trott, you were disoriented and incoherent.” Shame crept up Trott’s neck, but he tried not to let it whisper in his ear. “I’m not going to be able to be there when you give your statement.”

“I know.” He had taken plenty of statements last year. Statements done in a group setting were as useful as a shit in a toilet.

“You’re going to have to tell them.” Trott stared sidelong at Sips, and wondered if they were thinking about the same thing. Trott had been careful with his attraction with Smith and Ross around the other workers: the ranger suddenly questioned if the other two had been so quiet. “I’ll be waiting for you once they take you back.”

“You’re on-duty and should be at the Park.” Sips turned to look at Trott. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and Trott knew he was being defensive. But Sips didn’t take the chance to berate the ranger and instead opened the car door. Trott pinched the bridge of his nose and listed off the Fibonacci sequence - it was going to be a long night.  

 

\---

 

Lewis declared Trott to be on mandatory paid vacation for the rest of the week. As hard as Trott tried to fight Lewis on it, the ranger ended up earning an extra two days of PTO. The cabin, a crime scene until further notice, was off limits, so Trott was given the extra room in the Clubhouse to settle into until it was cleared by the police and then restored. 

The questioning left Trott feeling raw and retraumatized. He was met with contempt and disbelief in his retelling of Ashton and his prior relationship. But when Trott read the write-up in the local newspaper, the paper made sure to denote Trott’s sexuality several times, in between questioning if men could be the victim of partner violence. Lewis’ statement in the article voiced his utmost support of Trott’s situation, regardless of his queerness and restated Trott’s qualification as a ranger despite the hardship he was going through. 

Trott’s mother called the next day and they cried together until she determined she was coming to visit him. She dragged him out of the Clubhouse and into a small diner a few miles out of the town. They sat on the same side of the booth and she spoiled him attention, large servings of greasy breakfast food, and a tall strawberry milkshake. They didn’t talk about Ashton, about the newspaper - they only talked about the dog, Trott’s childhood home, and the memories that lived inside of it. Afterwards, she dropped her son off at the Clubhouse and made him promise he would call if he need anything. Trott had to lean over so she could kiss his forehead, brushing his long fringe to the side. Her car was slow to leave, but when it did, Trott wished he was in it with her, on the way home.

Ashton’s words echoed in the ranger’s mind the moments before he could fall asleep at night, jogging him awake in the darkness. Objectively, Trott knew he was the safest he could be while Ashton was in jail, but he found himself spooked. The unafraid man who stood his ground in the Clubhouse a month ago seemed to be a different person altogether. Trott was scared to think it was a fluke. 

Trott wasn’t brave enough to text Smith and Ross about what happened, even three days afterwards. But he felt the more time between that night and telling them, the more upset they would be. It felt like it was too late now, so Trott never texted them. He laid in the too-stiff bed and dreaded his best friends’ return, feeling stupid but conflicted the entire time. He unsuccessfully tried not to speculate their disappointment, their anger.

Trott had heard Smith before he saw him, his voice loud in the quiet Clubhouse, calling out for Trott. He had been sleeping, his hair a mess around his eyes. He was surprised when Ross simply opened the door to his room - the artist paused only for a moment when they locked eyes.

“Ro-” The brunette quickly closed the distance between them and Trott found himself in a strong embrace. Ross plunged his face into Trott’s hair, his hands around Trott’s back and on the back of his neck. Trott was at a loss of words, his arms hanging at his sides.

“Oh my God Trott - I - I’m so glad you’re okay.” Ross’s voice was cracking as he held the ranger. Trott thought of Ross’ dad and of Ross’ stories and closed his eyes, failing to fight back tears. He wrapped his arms around Ross’ center, his fingers gripping the loose fabric of Ross’ hoodie. Ross ran his fingers through Trott’s hair, cooing and comforting Trott while he cried softly into Ross’ shoulder. “Is it okay if Smith comes in?” Ross asked softly. 

Trott nodded into Ross, and it was only a moment later when another arm wrapped around them. Yet again, Trott’s friends surprised him in how much they cared for him. There was no accusations, no demands for explanations - they stood in Trott’s temporary room, crying as they held one another. Any sense of shame or doubt left Trott as he was held and caressed - Smith and Ross were proving how un-hard it was to love him. 

“Do you want us to stay?” Trott squeezed them closer as he nodded. Ross shushed Trott’s small whine when he broke away from the pod to close the door and Smith peppered Trott’s hair with small kisses as he rubbed his back. Ross pulled the other two to the bed in the corner of the room and Trott unlatched from Smith only long enough for Smith to crawl into bed. Ross and Smith sandwiched Trott between them as he koala’d onto Smith’s chest, pulling Ross’ hands around to his chest. The three of them laid as the crying lessened. As the silence started to settle between them, Trott found sleep hard to fight. It was the most peaceful sleep Trott had all week. 

 

\---

 

After their return, Trott was almost never alone. The three of them spent the extra days together, either watching movies, making food, or talking about their holiday visits. Though Trott was meant to be staying in the Clubhouse, he stayed the last couple of nights sleeping with Ross and Smith on the pull-out couch at the cottage. There was no denying Ross and Smith left their families early to come back to the Park for Trott, but they refused to let him apologize.

Sips stopped by the cottage on New Year’s Eve, dropping off a box of homemade cookies from his sister’s kids. They were sugar cookies in many festive shapes with colorful and messy decorations, often confusing the shape instead of defining it.

“Please take these, I can’t have them in my apartment anymore, I already had two boxes,” Sips pleaded as he closed the front door. The artist laughed and motioned Sips in from the doorway, reaching for the white paperboard box. “I can take it into the kitchen, I need a glass of milk to balance out the cookie-milk ratio Santa had this weekend.” Trott untangled his legs from Smith’s where they laid on the pull-out couch, and sat in the center of the bed as Ross walked with Sips to the kitchen. It earned him a cocked eyebrow from the fire watch as he leaned on his arm to look at Trott.

“You know he already saw you,” he said plainly. Trott shrugged his shoulders and picked at the loose strings on the blanket. Smith went to cup the ranger’s face, but Trott leaned away. Trott looked through the pass-through window to confirm Sips wasn’t looking. “What’s wrong Trott?”

“I don’t… I just…” Trott was at a loss of words. With the newspaper article and the incident, there was no way Sips didn’t know. But there was something different between Sips knowing and Sips seeing. It was invasive and too vulnerable - too unsafe for Trott. “He doesn’t need to know.”

“Know what?” Smith’s voice was measured, but Trott could see the apprehension perched in Smith’s slight pout.

“Please Smith, I just can’t right now.” 

“Sips doesn’t care about that stuff.”

“But I do.” Smith set his jaw but didn’t say anything. He shrugged and pulled out his phone, a tell-tale sign that Smith was trying to be agreeable. The fire watch was usually a pistol, speaking his mind without remorse. He often censored himself around Trott, and now the ranger was asking his friend to do it in another way. Trott reached out, putting his hand on Smith’s as he scrolled on social media. The touch earned him another cocked eyebrow, but Smith looked at him. “We’ll talk later okay - I’m sorry.” Smith only put down his phone, not returning the touch or moving away.

“No apologizing. But I would like to talk. Like, really talk, not just say we’re going to talk later and then skip the hard conversations.”

“That’s fair.” 

“Sips is coming, just so you know.” Trott gave Smith’s hand a squeeze but released it as Sips’ boots started on the wooden floor near the dining room. Without missing a beat, Smith was back on his phone and Trott was watching tv.

“Hey ranger, how is your cabin?”

“My cabin?” Trott asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Lewis said it was all done Friday afternoon.” Trott just blinked at Sips, surprised at the news. Lewis had not said anything about moving back or picking up duty. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“I guess not.”

“Probably thought you had already moved back in since you haven’t been at the Clubhouse.”

“I effectively have been holding him captive since we got back,” Ross interjected, motioning around the room. “You had himself to yourself for a whole week, I thought it was only fair.” Sips laughed and shook his head. Ross was the master of misdirection, as it seemed to satisfy any other questions Sips had.

“Blink twice if you are being held against your will.” Ross covered Trott’s eyes with his hands and the group laughed as Sips pretended to call for backup over his walkie talkie. “You three behave, you cretins,” Sips said as he closed the front door behind him. Ross still had his hands on Trott’s shoulders as he stood behind him and the couch. The artist made it seem natural to be affectionate and cozy with the ranger, and Trott felt guilty for pushing Smith away. 

It wasn’t that the attraction Trott felt for them was different - there had been lonely nights filled with images of both his friends, some comforting and some enticing. Trott watched as the UTV sped away from the cottage, wondering why he was protective of his sexuality. Hell, strangers in the next three counties knew Trott wasn’t straight now, thanks to Ashton’s visit. The cranks turned in Trott’s head, trying to understand himself until a hand waved in front of his face. Trott blinked and shook his head, looking around to see Ross and Smith staring at him.

“Were you talking to me?”

“Yeah, for like a full minute before I realized you weren’t even on Earth,” Ross said, the warmth in his voice softening the jab. “You okay, Trott?” Trott nodded automatically, but noted to do his hard thinking on his own time from now on.

“Yeah, what were you saying?” Ross and Smith shared a look, but Ross sat next to Trott on the couch before continuing.

“Do you still want to have our New Year’s in the fire tower or do you want it in your cabin?”

“Oh definitely the tower.” Ross paused again and Trott could see the shift from hopeful to concerned.

“Are you sure?” Smith huffed, standing from where he was lounging from the edge of the pull-out couch.

“He said the tower Ross, let it rest.” Smith stomped on his boots and shrugged on his jacket, and Ross and Trott watched him wordlessly leave the cottage. The artist sighed, but turned back Trott.

“I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay when you have to move back in,” Ross supplied. “As much as I love having you two over, you’s are going to have to return to normal park stuff next week.”

“Thank you, Ross. For letting me clear my head a bit before going back.” Ross laid his hand over the ranger’s, slowly interlacing their fingers. It was sweet, the way Ross’ eyes lingered on Trott’s hand whenever they seemed to find each other. It left a warm tickle in Trott’s chest, a small smolder of heat in his cheeks. Trott looked out to the pond, and he spotted the fire watch standing at its edge, staring out.

“Is Smith okay?” Ross made a noise and scrunched his eyebrows.

“I think he has a lot of anger about your situation.” Trott looked at the artist, not expecting that response.

“You talk about me?” Ross moved his head as he weighed his response.

“Smith and I care about you a lot, Trott. Hearing you had such a pressing issue wasn’t easy for him, especially after Ashton first showed up.”

“You don’t think he feels guilty, do you?” Ross looked out the window towards Smith.

“Smith takes certain parts of life very seriously. I do think he feels responsible for our safety - he was the one that told me about the paper, and he was the one that suggested we all stay here for a few days.” Ross looked back, and gave the ranger a sad smile. “That’s the thing about trauma - even when we think we have it under control, our loved ones often feel its weight.” The two of them sat quietly for a few minutes, the mumble of a television filling the silence as they held one another. “We should head out for the tower - we need to stop at your place for your presents, yeah?” Trott nodded, but pulled Ross closer when he tried to stand. 

“Thank you for everything you have done, Ross.” The artist smiled softly and the sun danced along his eyes. His dark lashes fluttered as the artist leaned forward to place a whisper of a kiss on Trott’s parted lips.

“You deserve it all.” Ross easily slipped from Trott’s grip, with every nerve alight as Trott melted. “I’m getting the presents, so you need to go hang out with Smith while I put them in bags.” Trott could hear the smirk in Ross’ voice and he cursed the artist for being so mischievous. Trott flopped off of the couch and begrudgingly got dressed by the front door. Smith had walked closer to the cottage, but he was still looking at the pond. Trott laced and tucked his boots, and pulled the beanie down around his messy hair. He cracked a hand warmer stick and pocketed it into his sweatshirt pouch. The air was cold but the sun was warm against Trott’s black jacket and jeans. 

Closing the door behind him, he galloped down the porch steps and walked towards Smith. If the fire watch heard Trott’s approach, he made no move to acknowledge him. Trott counted the different colors interwoven in Smith’s hair as the sun picked the blonder pieces out from the auburn. Cloud puffed from Smith’s mouth as he blew into his hands, rubbing them to fight the bite of the air. Trott stopped when he was stood next to his friend, the snow piles high along the pond’s edge.

“I feel like a right cock for storming out,” Smith said suddenly, not looking at Trott. Trott stared at the fire watch, watching the taller man pout slightly with furrowed brows.

“Let me?” Trott instead asked, holding out his hands to Smith’s. The fire watch complied, letting Trott take his cold hands in hand, bringing them to his cheeks and lips before stepping into Smith’s space to hold their hands in the stomach pocket with the hand warmer. Smith chuckled as he thumbed the warming stick.

“You really are a Boy Scout - prepared for everything.” Smith pulled Trott closer, nestling his face into the ranger’s beanie. “Forgive me?”

“Smith, you have nothing to be sorry for -”

“You don’t know that.”

“Alex -” Trott pulled his hands out of the pocket and put his hands on Smith’s cheeks - “You have done nothing wrong. You were upset, you took the space you needed to calm down. Does that sound like a terrible thing?” Smith was quiet as Trott caressed his flushed cheeks. Trott could feel him playing with the warmer in his pocket. “Ross said you were angry about Asht-”

“Was? I still am!”

“Why?” Smith shook his head out of Trott’s hands, and Trott had to remind himself Smith wasn’t angry with him. He stood firm, fighting the urge to shrink back as Smith started to block himself off. 

“I should have done something when he first showed up.”

“He wasn’t breaking policy Smith, you couldn’t’ve done anything.”

“And then I left for Christmas, I should have known he would have -”

“Smith, there’s no -”

“He’s a fucking psycho Trott!”

“I know Smith, I lived with him.” Smith tried to turn away from the ranger, but Trott grabbed his arm at the elbows. “Please Smith, I want to talk about it. If it’s hurting you-”

“I promised I wouldn’t let him hurt you anymore. And where was I when you needed me?” There were tears on Smith’s cheeks. He pulled against Trott’s grip and Trott let go. 

“I don’t blame you, Smith. Not even a little bit.”

“Maybe you should.” Smith aggressively wiped at his eyes. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I didn’t because I didn’t want to interrupt your time at home.”

“Can’t you see how important you are, Trott? Important to me?” Smith looked down at Trott’s hands, clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I would have stopped everything to be here sooner.”

“And you did. You raced back here to make sure I was okay, Smith. You can’t blame yourself for things out of your control.” Trott dotted at Smith’s cheeks and the fire watch rested his hands on Trott’s hips. “You don’t blame yourself for forest fires do you? No, you just do what you can to help, because you are amazing and selfless, and don’t deserve how hard you are on yourself.”

Smith rested his head on Trott’s shoulder, burying his face into the tall collar of his jacket and the folds of his sweatshirt. Trott rubbed the fire watch’s back as the taller man sniffled quietly, bringing Trott closer to him. “I forgive you, for everything you believe you have done wrong. But I know you would never do anything to hurt me, Alex.” Smith mumbled a thank you, but didn’t move from his perch over Trott; the ranger closed his eyes and let himself be embraced as he comforted Smith. “Can we try to talk to each other sooner when we feel like this?” Trott proposed after a few moments and Smith slowly nodded into his neck. Smith stood and rubbed at his eyes, puffy and red. He sniffled and Trott rubbed his friend’s arm as Smith tried to compose himself.

“Thank you, Trott.”

“Thank you, Smith.”

“Tell me you’re important.” Trott paused at the command. The determination seeped from Smith, his eyes fixed on Trott’s. 

“I-I’m important.” Smith cupped the back of Trott’s head and kissed the ranger’s forehead.

“Yes, you are. Always have been, always will be.” Trott smiled softly to himself, but lightly pushed Smith with a smirk.

“Such a smooth talker.”

“Only when they’re cute,” Smith retorted, caressing the back of Trott’s neck. Trott knew he had a stupid grin on his face, but he didn’t care. 

“You and Ross are too good to me.” Smith smiled as he looped his arms around the ranger’s neck. 

“No such thing.” The fire watch started to softly sway and Trott put his hands on Smith’s waist. Trott had learned Smith loved to lazily slow dance when he was content. The auburn seemed to thrive off intimacy and physical touch, something Trott had to remind himself was okay to want off the back of his trauma. “I’m glad you’re here, Chris.” The door to the cottage closed, and Smith and Trott turned to see the artist hold up his two bags and nod towards Smith’s Land Rover. The ranger looked from Ross and Smith, and smiled.

“I’m happy here, Smith.”

 

\---

 

As promised, Smith, Ross, and Trott gathered their presents, a 24-pack of locally brewed ciders, and enough pillows and blankets for an army in the tall fire watch tower for their own Christmas. The three of them sprawled along the floor with layers of blankets and piles of pillows, eating Chinese take-out from town as they listened to albums on Smith’s record player. 

“Alright, who’s been the best boy this year and gets to go first?” Ross asked as he plopped down onto his pillows with a cider in hand.

“Dibs.”

“You can’t just call dibs on opening presents first, Smith!”

“Well, I just did so hand ‘em over,” Smith laughed as Ross gawked. Trott laughed, but handed over the pristinely wrapped box. 

“I’m surprised you’re surprised, Ross,” Trott mused.

“Honestly, I shouldn’t even be,” the artist said as he daintily handed over the forest-green paper bag with trees stamped along its bottom half, and a white skeleton of a watch tower stretching out along the side. Smith dug into the bag first, pulling out folds of tissue paper. There were four patches, each smaller than his palm - one with the Park’s crest, one in the shape of a polaroid camera, one of a stylized flame with “Rescue” in a watery font, and a fluorescent gecko of greens and blues. “I figured your harness probably needs some new threads.”

“These are fucking awesome Ross,” Smith sighed, thumbing over the embroidery of the lizard. “Please tell me you’re going to sew these on.” Ross laughed, but nodded.

“It’s part of the gift, don’t worry.”

“Good, because God knows I can’t fucking do anything like that.” Smith smiled as he picked up Trott’s gift - the green wrapping almost matched Ross’ bag perfectly. Smith made quick work of the wrapping and opened the box. He gingerly picked up the scrapbook, and bit his lip as opened the cover. Trott had talked a lot with Sips and Smith’s dad, and had spent the last month collecting polaroids, post cards, and notes from Smith’s previous years at the Park. While Trott was not artistically inclined, Ross and Katie were and they perfectly recreated the handwriting of Smith’s late mom’s from her postcard - ‘glad you found your calling, XOXOWEH!’ scrawled in gold on the first page.

“There is space in the back for you to add to it too,” Trott interjected, antsy from Smith’s lack of response.

“This is fucking amazing. I - I really don’t know what to say,” Smith said, pausing to keep his voice from cracking. He carefully placed the patches on the scrapbook and leaned across the small space between him and his friends, pulling them into a group hug. “You guys made my gifts look so shitty.” The group laughed, but held each other for a moment more before sitting back.

“You can go next, Trott,” Ross said as he handed the canary yellow bag over to Trott. He admired the architectural recreation of his cabin’s facade, the yellow matching his front door perfectly. The same trees were stamped along the edge, framing the house’s sides and back. It felt heavier than what four patches must have felt, so Trott dived into the masterfully placed tissue paper.

Trott opened the smallest bundle of tissue paper, revealing a keychain with a small fidget cube. It was metal and cold in his hand, heavy too. Trott smiled, flicking a switch and thumbing a ball, endless rolling under the surface. He mumbled a thank you, and reached back into the bag. There was a collection of vinyl stickers, with different pieces from Ross’ exhibits that the two of them had talked about previously. “If you want one from this last summer, just let me know - I figured I would ask before handing you a silhouette of a threesome.” Smith’s face made Trott snort and laugh into his hand.

“These are way more than enough. I think Lewis would die on the spot if I walked around with that on my water bottle,” Trott chuckled, setting aside the stickers. Trott picked up the last thing, which was rather large compared to Ross’ other gifts. Peeling back the paper revealed sections of tree branches made into two picture frames. The one was empty, but the second had a picture of the three of them and Sips at a wing night, each of their face tinted pink. Trott almost didn’t recognize himself in this picture - he was grinning, the lines at the corner of his eyes deep with his hand near his face. Ross and Smith were smiling at Trott, and Sips’ head was thrown back in a full-body laugh. “These are sweet Ross - thank you so much.” 

Smith bashfully handed his own bag to Trott. There was a card peeking out from the tissue paper and Trott carefully opened it. It was hand-made, Smith’s usually sloppy handwriting replaced with a much more legible, but still smushed, script. It talked about their memories together and how Smith was thankful for Trott’s company. There was a polaroid inside, one of Trott crawling onto the back rack of the four-wheeler. On the bottom was written - ‘Trott, the master of riding bitch-bitch’. Trott snorted and laughed as he rolled his eyes, but thanked Smith. Trott unwrapped two coffee cups, one ceramic mug with a forest landscape design and filled with different chocolates, and the other a canary yellow Yeti tumbler. “Holy shit Smith these are nice tumblers,” Trott exclaimed as he thumbed the smooth surface.

“I mean, you are a coffee snob,” Smith teased, and Trott leaned over to give Smith’s shoulder a small push. 

“Thank you both of you, these are really thoughtful.” Ross was handed a wrapped gift and a gift bag, and shredded the wrapping paper. It was a whiskey sample box and Ross laughed loudly as he placed it to the side.

“You’re just asking for trouble, Smith,” Ross said looking at the fire watch.

“You were your best self when we did fireball shots at the Halloween party,” Smith replied with a shit-eating grin. Ross had drunkenly given Smith a lap dance in front of the Park staff after five shots, and had earned a stern finger wag from a hung-over Lewis the next day.

“Whiskey makes me frisky,” Ross coyly said, shrugging as he peeked into the bag. He pulled out what would turn out to be an aromatherapy candle, along with the rest of the set of three. They were ylang-ylang with bergamot, vanilla with lavender, and chamomile with oats and honey, each with wooden wicks and pieces of its ingredients sprinkled along the top of the wax. Ross hummed happily as he tested each of them, and put them aside with a happy smile. The last piece of his gift was a thick, leather-bound journal, in which Trott had written Emily Dickinson’s “If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking” and thanked Ross for being his insistent self in reaching out to the stubborn ranger. After they put away their gifts, the three of them opened a new set of beers and cheered to a new year together.

As more empty bottles collected between them, the sense of personal space seemed to dissipate into the smooth tones of saxophones. Ross twirled locks of Smith’s hair as the fire watch laid with his head on the artist’s lap, laying between Ross’ long legs. Trott laid with his head on Smith’s chest, supporting his shoulders with folds of blankets. Smith ran his fingers through Trott’s hair, still a mess from the beanie. Even though they had spent the last few days together, the change of scenery seemed to spark more conversations and Trott had yet to grow wary of his friends.

Between the warmth of his drunkenness, the hum of Smith’s chest, and the long drags of fingers along his scalp, Trott could barely fight off sleep. Trott let his mind wander, fluctuating between daydreaming and remembering, between this year and last year. Last New Years, Trott had thought he would still be trapped in that small apartment in New Haven: Trott honestly didn’t think he would have been alive the way Ashton’s outbursts were escalating. There were many nights the ranger thought when he woke up, he would be back in the bed that smelled like cheap detergent and expensive cologne. It was too unreal, to hit rock bottom and somehow be successfully climbing out of it. But with Smith’s hand in his hair and Ross’ laugh filling the warm cabin, Trott dared to feel safe in light of all his fears.


	8. The Weekend Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott knew his life would be different when he started at the Park, but he didn't know it would be this much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, definitely heed the "for Mature Audiences" warning in this one. It gets spicy for a while. Enjoy!

Trott was securing the last of the camping equipment to his pack, humming softly to the song on the radio. Smith was sitting across the room from the ranger, showing Ross the different knots he could use in case of an emergency. Ross’ brows were pinched in concentration and Trott watched the artist recreate the knots, reinforcing the directions into muscle memory. Ross had complained about never being in the back-country of the park, despite it already being mid-January of his service year; much to the artist’s fortune, or misfortune, Smith answered his complaints with a stay-cation for the three of them.

“Did you guys sign out yet?” Trott asked as he stood from the desk chair.

“Sign out?”

“No, we didn’t,” Smith answered as he turned to his own pack.

“I’ll go get the book,” the ranger supplied. He ruffled Smith’s hair gently as he passed the fire watch and the auburn turned to kiss at the ranger’s hand. Trott was excited to go camping with Ross and Smith, to be able to not have to worry about hiding and pretending to not have feelings for them. The park was closed for another month and the staff still here had no reason to adventure into the back-country. It would just be the three of them and ten square miles of freedom. Trott could deal with the cold nights and campfire foods.

“You guys heading out?” Trott jumped at the voice, but relaxed when he realized it was Sips. Trott was trying to loosen up on being so asphyxiatingly protective about his feelings for Smith and Ross. Sadly, wanting to be more open was easier said than done, and Trott often found himself slipping into his old habits of being defensive in public spaces like the Clubhouse.

“Yeah, we’re signing the book now,” Trott said, waving the large ledger around.

“Smith with you?” Trott paused.

“No, he’s in the other room.” Sips put down his coffee mug and motioned Trott in. Trott looked to the room with Smith and Ross, but stepped into Sips' office, his stomach in knots. Sips pulled an envelope out from a drawer while Trott approached him.

“I want you to know, I got a call this morning that Ashton is out on bail.”

“Oh.”

“Our legal team has issued a PFA against him, it is a no-contact order…”

“You didn’t have to…”

“It’s for me.” Trott’s brain stopped. “While I’m glad you were not in that house, I almost got shot by that fucker.” Sips stood up and rounded the desk, putting a hand on the ranger’s shoulder. “More importantly, because the PFA is against me, he is also legally barred from coming to my residence and my place of work.” Sips squeezed the ranger's shoulder, smiling softly. “You’re safe here. I have my connections. He’s not getting close to you.” Trott pushed off Sips’ hand and pulled the tall man into a crushing hug. Trott had dreams of going to the district office to file a protection from abuse order, but he woke up before he ever could reach the door. Sips wrapped his arms around Trott and held Trott’s head to his chest.

“I don’t know what to say Sips. I’m sorry you had to deal with him.” Sips shrugged and held Trott at arm’s length.

“Now we both don’t have to deal with him.” Sips ruffled Trott’s hair and turned back to his desk.  “I’ll come sign the book in a minute.” The ranger hummed and left Sips’ office, but the news put a pep in his step. He was the safest he had ever been since meeting Ashton - it truly felt the final nail in his old life. Composing himself, Trott rounded the corner to see Ross and Smith shrugging on their packs and fastening the last of their gear.

“Come on Ross, let's go sign your life away,” Smith chimed as he took the leather bound book from Trott.

“Smith, it’s not all that,” Trott tried.

“I mean,” Smith trailed off as he noted the time on his watch. Trott looked to the artist and gave him a reassuring smile. Ross looked nervous all the sudden, small under the large pack. The ranger reached out for Ross’ hand and gave it a squeeze.

“All this book is used for is for us to know who is out in the park. You sign out when you leave and you sign in when you get back. If you don’t report in, someone comes to find you.”

“Ross, I wouldn’t let you go out there if I thought it was going to be too much for you,” Smith said softly, putting his hand on Ross’ shoulder. “Where we are going has minimal risk zones and you are going with two people who are certified to find people who get lost. No pressure Trott.” Ross seemed to relax with the encouragement and took the pen from the fire watch. “Besides, I know all the naughty spots where we’re going.”

 

It only took the three of them a little over four hours to hike to what Smith had described as a good place to hide away for a few days. It was a wooded area with a small clearing. The north river was only a five minute walk away. Trott took a deep breath in: there was something liberating about being in the middle of nowhere with his best friends. Even having to hammock for two nights didn’t put a damper on Trott’s mood. It had warmed up considerably since the storm over Christmas, so the forest floor was equal parts snow and pine needles. They unpacked most of their belongings and set up camp, collected fire supplies and tied up their packs. There was still a few hours of sunlight before they had to hunker down and make food, so Smith wrapped his camera’s dark leather strap around his neck and led Ross and Trott to the river.

“There’s some falls about a mile down the river, there’s a lot of stuff to climb around on there. Upstream is a tower which has a great view of the park.” Ross ran passed Smith, smacking him on the ass.

“We’ll let’s go be tourists in our own park.” Ross laughed as Smith chased after him and Trott smiled at the sight. Ross rounded back, dodging around a wide swipe from the fire watch and Ross clambered behind Trott. The artist buried his chin in the nape of Trott’s neck, watching the auburn approach them. Ross snaked his arm around Trott, hiding his hands in the large pocket of Trott’s jacket. “Ranger, save me from this wildly attractive lunatic.” Smith reached for the artist, but Trott and Ross weaved in unison away.

“Trott, don’t protect this pervert!”

“He has a point Ross, you did touch his butt.”

“I’m a family man!” The three of them burst into laughter, and Trott doubled over to laugh.

“I can’t take you two anywhere,” Trott said between chuckles, rubbing the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“That’s why I’m the one taking you two places,” the fire watch insisted, starting upstream. “Come on, it’s not worth the walk in the dark.” Ross unraveled himself from Trott, but slipped his hand into Trott’s, while Trott wrapped his arm around Smith’s, his hand in the crook of Smith’s elbow. Trott was amazed how effortless it was with Smith and Ross now: to think Trott flinched at Smith’s harmless teases felt so fake compared to their dynamic now. More often than not, Trott was usually touching one if not both of them when they were alone. Smith had taken a liking to giving Trott piggy backs when walking around the house and Trott would plant kisses on his shoulders and ears.

The ranger still half-expected one of the flames he held for his friends to lessen, but instead he learned that they burned differently. It was easier to be vulnerable with Ross, who was skilled in listening and comforting. But the artist had this mischievous tick that fed the playfulness Trott had thought he lost. But Smith was devoted to a fault, cocky to no end, and flirtatious without shame. His authenticity empowered Trott to be truer to his own person and to feel dangerously. Together they had started to resurface what Trott already knew: life wasn’t the shithole Ashton had turned it into and Trott never deserved what Ashton had given him. Yes, they highlighted some of Trott’s unhealthy habits, but in a light meant to fuel his recovery and never as ammo to be used against him. They made him want to be a better person: to be the person he wanted to be, regardless of who was looking.

And what a better place to realize that than in a forest empty of everyone except for them.

“Trott come on,” Smith called to him and the ranger took in his surroundings. Ross was running towards a large wooden tower. It wasn’t as tall as Smith’s watch tower, but it was on a natural incline. Smith was taking pictures as Ross neared the foot of the tower and Trott smiled. Going back would be hard, he could already tell. Trott walked up to Smith, looking through his viewfinder between Smith’s pictures.

“You’re really good with that,” he said, pressing up against Smith. Smith smiled but didn’t stop taking pictures. “Did you bring your Polaroid?”

“It’s at camp - it’s better for low intensity lighting. Once that sun gets to that mountain, it’s going to get colorful out here.”

“Hey, stop sucking each other off and get over here!” Ross yelled, finally reaching the steps that would wrap around the tower’s four legs.

“Such a needy boy,” Smith muttered, but let the camera hang around his neck. “Come on Trott, you can talk dirty to me later,” the fire watch teased, grabbing Trott’s hand and pulling him along to the tower.

Smith was right, you could see a lot of the park from this tower. The twin mountains framed much of what Trott could see, but the wooded area leading away from the park stretched into far away mountains drawing out a horizon of dark blue. Smith leaned around Ross and Trott, pointing between them to a blip of white against the sea of greens. “That’s my tower.” He rested his hands on Trott’s and Ross’ necks. “During the fire season, the person stationed here can signal to me and I’ll see it crystal clear.” Trott looked around at the tower.

“Someone lives here during the summer?”

“No, there’s only one other fire tower on the park’s edge, this one is a just a watch tower. In the summer there is volunteer who stays in a cabin nearby with a path we clear as an evac route.” Trott leaned onto the railing and looked at the reddening sky. The ranger tried not to think of summer, between fire season and the end of Ross’ service year. It was really only a few months away. He watched as Ross posed and Smith snapped pictures, laughing as Ross changed from blue-steel to meek school girl personas.

“Come on Trott, get in here,” Ross said, opening his arms and pulling Trott in for a side hug. Ross planted a kiss at the ranger’s temple and Trott shyly looked away from the camera. Ross nudged the ranger with his face and hummed happily as they stayed close. Trott closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of Ross against his cold cheeks. Smith must have given up on taking pictures, because Trott felt another set of arms embrace him and Smith’s beard tickled his forehead. They stood there quietly and Trott watched the sun start to set. It oozed sherbet tones into the sky, and the colors melted from reds to blues.

“Let’s climb down before we lose light,” Smith reluctantly said, pulling away from the huddle. The fire watch kissed Ross in passing and galloped down the steps. “Last person back has to sleep by themselves.”

“Oh fuck no, I’ll fall out,” Ross said, pushing pass Trott and Smith, and the three of them raced back to the camp as the trees’ shadows stretched and faded into each other.

 

Ross wrapped his arms around Trott’s core and Trott relaxed into the fabric of the folding chair. The two of them had toed off their hiking boots and let the small fire warm their feet. It had dulled from the cooking fire Smith had started and they lazily twisted marshmallows on sticks from their chair. Since Trott was sitting on Ross’ lap, he was in charge of blowing out any marshmallows, which happened often since “charred” was Ross’ favorite flavor. Smith was in charge of the smore creation process and charged a service fee of kisses and chocolate pieces.

As a group, they had agreed that they wouldn’t drink on their stay-cation, but Trott didn’t mind. He was honestly surprised at the level of ease he felt as he sprawled across Ross’ lap and enticed Smith with chocolate between his teeth. Trott supposed it was the utmost improbability that they would be seen here and Trott tried not to think of how this would be harder at the park. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Ross and Smith to dial it back, and it wasn’t that Trott didn’t want the affection - it just felt so damning to be vulnerable and queer in public.

Ross leaned his head on the crook of Trott’s arm as it rested on the artist’s shoulder. He quirked his eyebrow, questioning what Trott would assume was a grumpy resting face. Trott instead leaned down and rested his head on Ross’ and smiled.

“I’m here,” Trott said and Ross squeezed him.

“I’m glad. You’re warm,” Ross sighed happily, nuzzling into Trott’s neck. The ranger played with Ross’ hair, swirling the last marshmallow over the fire. Smith sat down at the foot of the chair and rested his arm on Ross’ legs as he chomped down on his own smore. Ross played with the tag that stuck out from his sweater, tucking it once Smith grumbled around the graham and mellow mess. Trott pulled the stick from the fire, and Smith balanced another set of crackers and chocolate on Trott’s leg. Smith lazily licked the melted chocolate from Trott’s fingers as payment for his service, wiggly his eyebrows.

“You’re bad,” Trott tutted, quickly putting the smore in his mouth.

“You, sir, are asking for trouble,” Ross agreed, but ran his hand through the long part of Smith’s tousled hair. The fire watch shrugged, his lips in a pout.

“Can’t get in trouble out here.” The warmth of the campfire seemed to dive into Smith’s eyes, smoldering as he looked back at Ross. Trott felt like he swallowed a flicker of flame, his gut hot. Ross slightly pulled on the back of Smith’s head, his knuckles deep in auburn hair.

“As if that would have stopped you,” Ross said, his chest rumbling into Trott’s back. Smith turned into Ross’ reach, kissing at his wrist. Trott wriggled in Ross’ lap, unsure if he should egg on the situation. His relationship with both Ross and Smith had not yet passed into terribly intimate territory, despite the number of times he may have thought about it. There was no denying his physical attraction to Smith and the ease in everything he did with Ross, but he shied away from the more intimate moments.

The hand on his back brought him back from his thoughts. Whatever charged moment Ross and Smith were sharing had ended as the fire watch waddled over to the designated piss trees and Ross sat there rubbing Trott’s back. The fire was low, barely warm on their feet now. Trott guessed it was probably close to 22:00, given on how long they had spent mucking about the fire and stuffing their faces with food. “You okay Trott?” The ranger hummed as he turned to look at Ross, his bright blue eyes almost brown in the glow of the fire. “You got really quiet there.”

“Oh, sorry. I was just…” Trott trailed off, deterred from making up an excuse by the worry in the artist’s face. Trott wrapped his arm around Ross’ neck, the need to sooth Ross’ concerns superseding his own. “I’ll be good and behave, don’t worry.” Ross wrapped an arm around Trott’s waist, pulling him closer. The artist’s neck was stretched long and Trott had to look down to meet his eyes.

“I don’t want you to be “good”, I want you to be comfortable.” Trott looked between Ross’ eyes, unsure of what to say to change the mood. He didn’t want to ruin the weekend away, to distract the three of them from their time together just to coddle him. “If things are going somewhere you don’t like, all you have to do is say so and we’ll stop.”

“Ross don’t be si-”

“I mean it Trott. Nothing is more important than making sure you’re okay.” Leaning down quickly, Trott kissed Ross. It something Trott could manage right now; it was simple and didn’t require any evaluation or re-evaluation. Ross was gentle when he kissed back, letting Trott pull away a moment later.

“Okay,” Trott sighed, bringing his forehead to Ross’. The artist nuzzled his way to Trott’s temple, bringing Trott in closer. “I swear you have some mind reading magic bullshit,” Trott teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“It only works on cute boys,” Ross replied, pulling back from Trott.

“Oh, so you can’t read Smith’s mind?”

“Oi, I fucking heard that Trott!

 

Trott laid in the bottom hammock, with Ross curled around him and the blanket strewn across his chest. Ross was warm, pressed tight against the ranger’s side and chest. Ross had fallen asleep shortly after Trott convinced him that he’d be more comfortable if they laid at an angle and not straight along its length. The ranger knew the artist was asleep when the small snores started, uninterrupted when Trott positioned his arm around Ross’ shoulders. Trott played the tips of Ross’ hair, staring at the bright stars beyond Smith’s hammock.

“You still awake Trott?”

“Mhmm.” There was some fidgeting and Trott could see Smith’s silhouette peeking out from the hammock against the sky. “Can’t fall asleep?”

“Nah, I got a second wind from all that sugar.” Trott snorted a laugh. Trott could see Smith moving, but was surprised when Smith’s hand was reaching out for him.

“You’re going to fall out of your hammock Smith.”

“I just wanna hold your hand.” His voice was small in the quiet of the woods. Trott obliged, holding his hand up and lacing his fingers with Smith’s. Smith wasn’t one to be meek, to shyly ask for things he wanted, especially not Trott. Trott rubbed his thumb along Smith’s wrist.

“Do you wanna sleep with Ross tomorrow?”

“I wanna bunk with you.”

“Oh.” Trott didn’t expect that.

“I’m not jealous or anything.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Smith made a noise, but the ranger paused. He waited for a minute, deciding if he should poke the bear or let it rest. It was hard to know which to do with Smith. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Smith…” The fire watch went to pull back his hand, but Trott squeezed it. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“The only time you pull away from me is when you’re upset.”

“Not uh.” Trott took a breath, feeling himself get worked up from the lip-locked auburn.

“Okay, I believe you.” Trott went to put his arm down so Smith could brood, but Smith locked fingers with him again.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” Smith quickly asked.

“Yeah Smith. Of course.” There was another noise from the top hammock and Smith pulled his hand back up and twisted back into the shell of the hammock. Trott sighed and closed his eyes, trying not to feel guilty as he sunk into the warm body next to him.

When Trott woke up, the sun was peeking over the far canopy of trees. Ross was still snoring into Trott’s chest, his hand clasped around the collar of the ranger’s Henley. Trott nuzzled his face into Ross’ hair, breathing in the blend of his spicy shampoo and the bitter campfire smoke. Trott looked over the lip of their hammock and Smith was sitting in the chair, writing in a small notebook. It was one that Smith always had on him, but never mentioned or shared. Trott could only guess what was inside, but he knew better than to ever ask. If Smith wanted him to know, he would know.

“Good morning sunshine,” the ranger said and Smith looked up from his writing. “You wanna go get kindling and some timber with me?” Smith nodded, pocketing the journal and pen into his flannel shirt. Trott peeled himself from Ross, being careful to keep the hammock from leaning too far. Ross was a relatively heavy sleeper and probably wouldn’t even notice they were gone. Trott offered up his pillow as a substitute and Ross was none the wiser.

Trott stretched, now free from the stiff constraints of a double hammock. He stomped on his hiking boots, lazily lacing them as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Smith stood next to him, quiet and still. Whatever mood Smith was in last night clung to him like fog onto mountain crests. “Come on, I saw some good spots on the way in.”

They fetched kindling and some thicker logs for the fire in silence. Smith wasn’t a morning person on most days, but Trott couldn’t help but think this was different. It was possible that it wasn’t - just Smith slowly waking up, but Trott prepared himself for the worst. He had known it was too good to be good: for the three of them to just do whatever they were doing without their being any conversation or concerns about it. Trott should have known one of them would be uncomfortable with it, he just figured he would be the first to be bothered by it.

“I’m sorry for last night,” Trott said, needing to break the silence. It was too loud in his head and too quiet out here.

“Trott, no apologies.”

“Okay, but what I said -”

“Is not what I wanted to talk about.” Smith put the stack of logs onto some rocks beside a nearby tree. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ashton being out on bail?” Trott’s mind reeled at the topic change. Ashton was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially with Smith. The ranger knew Smith meant well, he just sometimes sucked at expressing it in a way that didn’t stress Trott out.

“What?”

“I know you know. I know Sips would have told you.”

“How do _you_ know he’s out on bail?”

“Lewis told me.”

“And why would he do that?” Trott asked, crossing his arms.

“Because I am just as responsible for the Park as you are.”

“Why didn’t he tell me then?”

“Sips wanted to tell you, since it affects both of you directly.”

“It doesn’t affect me -”

“You know that's bullshit Trott!” Smith took a sharp breath, exhaling slowly. “He called me last night. I saw I had a voicemail when I went for a leak.” Trott sat down on an overturned tree trunk, putting his head in his hands. This was so much worse than the feelings talk he thought was coming. He had worked himself into a frenzy preparing for a conversation that wasn’t even happening, and now he was taut from feeling like he had to defend himself. Trott counted the sticks he picked up, sitting at his feet. “I just thought you would tell me.”

“I just wanted this weekend to be about us.”

“Did you tell Ross?” Trott shook his head, breathing slowly. Smith walked over, standing in front of Trott as if waiting for permission. Trott focused on breathing, trying to calm down. It had been a while since he had been this worked up and he could feel himself trying not to panic. He didn’t want to become the unsure, scared victim at every mention of Ashton. “Can I sit with you Trott?” The ranger nodded and Smith sat beside him, close but not touching. “That came off really accusatory, I didn’t mean it to, but it did and that’s my fault.” Trott looked over to Smith. He wasn’t looking at the ranger, but instead was looking at his hands as they rested on his lap. Trott bumped shoulders with his fire watch and gave a small smile when Smith looked over.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Ross.” Smith rolled his eyes but smiled.

“I know, damn guy with his smart words.” Smith held out his hand and looked to Trott. Trott rested his hand in Smith’s, letting the auburn lace their fingers. “I will try to be better about Ashton stuff. I just lose my mind when I think about him.” Smith kissed at Trott’s knuckles. “I promise to be better.”

“I want you to be you, Smith. You don’t have to do anything more or less if it’s not you.” Smith leaned onto Trott, keeping their hands clasped. They sat together, soaking in the cool air and the sweetly warm morning sun. Trott let himself relax, breathing slowly and deeply as Smith caressed the ranger's hand. He closed his eyes and listened to the world around him, letting his mind wander instead of fixating on the Ashton issue. When he looked back to Smith, he seemed to be in thought. “Why did you ask if Ross knew?” Smith took a deep breath in, but turned slightly towards Trott. He didn’t make eye contact, just staring down at the forest floor.

“I know you talk with Ross about stuff a lot. Which is fine, of course. I just sometimes… wonder why you don’t talk with me about certain stuff.”

“It’s usually because Ross tricks me into saying stuff.” Smith considered that for a moment and nodded to himself.

“That is fair.” Smith squeezed Trott’s hand slightly, looking back to him. “Just know, if you ever need anything, I’ll do my best to help. I’m not the best at listening and stuff like Ross is, but I’ll always give it a go.”

“Thank you Smith,” Trott said, bumping shoulders with him again. “I really appreciate you and Ross and everything you two have done to help me. It means a lot to me.” Smith tilted his body towards the ranger, putting his hand on Trott’s cheek and neck.

“I would do it all again,” Smith said and Trott had to look away from the intensity of Smith’s gaze. Smith kissed Trott on the forehead, leaning in slow to give him enough time to turn away if he wanted. The auburn’s fingers flitted through Trott’s hair and rested on the back of his neck. Smith looked like he was going to say something, but decided against it as he softly smiled. “Let’s go make sure Ross hasn’t given all our food to a bear.”

As Trott expected, Ross was still snoring lightly away when Smith and he returned to the camp, with about two meals’ worth of timber in tow. They decided to wake sleeping beauty after the brunch fire was getting hot enough to cook some eggs on and enjoyed making the fire together in the meanwhile. Smith was lightly talking about different campfire styles, all things Trott already knew but let Smith ramble on regardless. The ranger realized Smith and him didn’t usually spend time one-on-one, it was almost always a group thing. There was also a part of Trott that couldn’t believe that Smith was interested in having Trott-time. More accurately, Trott reckoned he didn’t want to get his hopes up that he was as important to Smith as Smith was to him. Which, Trott thought, was dumb considering how much verbal confirmation Smith has literally spoon-fed him.

Trott was surprised when Smith leaned in to kissed him. His hands were warm on Trott’s neck and face and Trott let him deepen the kiss. Trott gripped onto Smith’s upper arms, pulling him closer and Smith chuckled against Trott’s mouth. Smith pulled back, breathing in and opening his eyes. He had a goofy grin.

“What was that for?” Trott sighed, leaning back on his heels.

“You’re cute when you’re overthinking.” Trott rolled his eyes, but smiled. He patted Smith’s cheek, standing as the heat of the fire grew.

“I’m going to wake sleeping beauty, can you start breakfast?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably have it done by the time you get him out of that hammock.” Trott sighed, knowing Smith was probably right.

 

They spent most of the day at the waterfall, jumping along the river’s large boulders, challenging each other to balance on fallen trees, and lounging around on the cold sandy banks. Trott knew they were going to be sore, from pulling each other over large boulders and running along the sand after a frisbee. The sun was warmer today, almost tricking the mind into believing it was several weeks into spring. Despite being told not to, Smith ran around without his jacket on, the mist of the waterfall caught in his hair for parts of the day.

Smith took photos on his professional camera and on his Polaroid, Ross sketched some ideas for his next project, and Trott just enjoyed his time outside. The three of them had spent the last few weeks trying to stay busy in wake of Ashton’s visit, so to have no really plans and only themselves to keep them entertained, it let Trott process things in the background while he watched his friends. They only had about another two hours of sunlight, so they just enjoyed the last of it lounging on the rocks closer to the camp-side of the falls.

Trott made the effort to make sure he didn’t get lost in thought and tried to stay in the moment. He laid on the blanket they had brought, his head on Smith’s thigh as he flicked through his digital camera. Ross was sitting closer to the stream, perched on the edge of their large rock, sketching the waterfall from a safe enough distance to not ruin his notebook. He liked to see Ross in his artist mode: he was so enraptured in his moment, uncaring about the pull of his eyebrows or the squareness of his jaw. It was endearing, to see someone Trott loved in his element.

Trott paused at the thought, but made himself move past it, just accepting it like a swallow of medicine. He didn’t have to monitor and curate his thoughts, he reminded himself. He made himself look at Smith, to not get stuck in the thought. Smith was shaking a Polaroid in one hand while looking at his camera screen.

“What is your favorite thing to photograph Smith?” Trott asked, pulling Smith from his thoughts. He scrolled on the camera, holding it so Trott could see. It was a photo of Trott watching Ross, but the field of focus was short so Ross was mostly a blur of colors. The ranger’s face was soft and he was smiling, staring at Ross.

“People. Especially candids,” Smith answered. He handed the camera to Trott and they flipped through the pictures the fire watch had taken throughout the day. The ranger was surprised at the photos of himself. It had been so long since he had seen pictures of himself so directly. There were close ups, busts, full body pictures, everything. Smith was infinitely patient behind the camera, waiting for the fleeting moments to come and to pass. There were so many of Trott smiling, of Ross and Trott holding hands or fucking about on the rocks.

To see himself as Smith saw him was more empowering than embarrassing. It was so different from how Trott envisioned himself: withdrawn and careful. Apparently to Smith, Trott was warm and playful in some of these, camera shy but still present in others. The depth of himself was visceral, it was real. There were pictures of Ross looking at Trott, and they made Trott’s stomach roll. He looked so happy and relaxed, looking at the ranger with smiles and laughs.

“I wish there were more pictures of you with us,” Trott said shyly. Smith looked down at Trott, with a small smile. He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t like how I look in photos.” Trott leaned up and went to snap a picture of Smith. The picture went off as Smith pushed the camera away with a smile. Trott held the camera away from Smith, checking the picture in the small monitor. It was blurred, but Smith’s smile was wide and his eyes were bright.

“You can’t delete that one, I want to print it out at the cottage!” Trott yelled as Smith snatched the camera from his hands. Trott clutched to his arm as Smith wrangled the camera away from Trott. “I don’t have a picture of you! I want one!” Smith looked at the picture, and then looked at Trott. He huffed, but turned off the camera.

“Okay, fine. I won’t delete it so long as you don’t show Sips.” Trott smiled and pecked Smith on the cheek.

“Deal.” Smith turned and pulled Trott in for a chaste kiss. “We should probably get going, we shouldn’t try to jump rocks in the dark.”

Ross finished his sketches by the campfire while Trott and Smith cooked their dinners. He finished just in time to devour the steak and potatoes, groaning and humming around his food. Trott was inclined to do the same - Smith was the master at steaks, even on something as simple as a campfire and an iron skillet with some salt. They talked about Ross’ next project, a fake waterfall scene made of all the plastic bags they have found just walking around in the back-country. There were some tires that were ditched near one of the south cabins that he could use for rocks, Trott reckoned. Ross sketched some details that the three of them talked through, curled up between Trott and Smith for some warmth.

Trott thought he would be more insecure about the closeness of Smith and Ross. But there was something about seeing the two people that made Trott happy making each other happy that was fulfilling. Admittedly, he was mildly jealous of their intimacy, the moments like last night. But not in the way that he wanted neither of them to have it, he just wished he could get out of his head long enough to have a similar moment. It was something he missed from his college days, the no-holds-bar approach to hooking up or staying the night with a stranger. The confidence to do something like that was something Trott missed about himself. He tried not to let it bully him into moments with Ross or Smith, but resented his own stagnation. 

He wondered how he would fair if they continued their moments around him. He figured they kept their sex life away from Trott, if there was one. He wasn’t quite sure, but was hesitant to bring it up. Trott didn’t want to shake the illusion the three of them had, to break the silent agreement they shared. Things like labels were not worth this closeness, not after enduring something so painful for so long. He would let one of the others bring it up; until then, he would enjoy the time and the closeness they shared.

“Oh my god dude, you should just become a massage therapist,” Ross groaned, and Trott turned to see Smith sitting in the folding chair with Ross between his knees. The artist’s head was lulled in Smith’s lap as Smith kneaded at his shoulders and back. Trott smiled.

“Sore from climbing?”

“I don’t think I can go on,” Ross whined melodramatically, holding a limp hand towards Trott. The ranger laughed, but took Ross’ hand in his, rubbing the flesh of his palm and length of his fingers.

“The poor avant garde artist can’t rough-and-tough it like us Trott,” Smith chided playfully, moving his hands from Ross’ shoulders to his upper chest and pecs. Ross hummed happily, leaning his head back and looking up at Smith, a lazy grin on his face. Smith kissed Ross, dragging his hands down Ross’ chest and stomach, rubbing down onto his upper thighs as the auburn leaned and deepened the upside down kiss.

Trott’s breath caught in his throat, just holding Ross’ hand now. Pressure built in his chest, but Trott swallowed it down. Desire and the underlying taint of fear brought the sight into focus and the ranger had to fixate on the hard, cold earth beneath him. He reminded himself there was no danger, no pressure, no expectations. The ranger watched as Ross reached up into Smith’s hair, lightly tugging it and summoning small sounds from the fire watch. Ross ran his fingers over Trott’s knuckles and it helped bring Trott from the edge of panic. The longer Trott sat and watched, the less Trott was scared and the more Trott felt the pull of his gut.

Smith trailed one hand back from Ross’ lap to his chest and up to trace the artist’s adam's apple and the long lines of his neck. Smith’s fingers curled around Ross’ neck, never gripping, just a pressure just under his jawline. Ross slinked his hand from Trott’s and up the ranger’s arms and shoulders to the nape of his neck. It wasn’t pulling or pushing, just a weight for Trott to focus on. He ran his hand up and down the length of Ross’ arm, his attention fixated on their kiss and Ross’ hand. They were only about a foot away, but they felt miles away. Distant in a way that watching a scene in a movie feels. Trott kept pinging between far away and too close, the heat of the fire and of Ross’ hand bringing him back into reality.

What felt like an eternity ended when Smith pulled away first, his eyes barely open and his lips parted. Ross smiled, his hand combing back the falling length of auburn hair. Trott was scared to breathe, to interrupt their moment. Ross rubbed his thumb over the hollow of Trott’s throat mindlessly, humming happily as Smith kissed him once more before sitting up. Smith kept his hands on Ross, running through his hair and rubbing circles on his chest.

Ross looked over to Trott and exhaled slowly. His eyes were dark, only catching flickering colors from the fire. Ross’ lips were pinker and slightly pouted as the artist seemed to consider Trott. Trott swallowed, but maneuvered to rest on his knees. He leaned into the distance that separated him and the artist, resting his hand on Smith’s knee for stability. Trott cupped Ross’ face with one hand, looking from Ross’ lips to his eyes. Ross’ hand drooped from Trott’s neck to his waist, tucking his hand into the ranger’s back pocket and sending a line of tingles through Trott.

“You okay, Tr-” The ranger didn’t let Ross finish as he slowly kissed the artist. Ross groaned against his mouth, squeezing his grip against Trott. There was another hand on the back of Trott’s neck, lightly playing with the longer length on the top. As Trott and Ross kissed, Trott let his hand wander across Smith’s legs, lap, and stomach, earning him small hitches in Smith’s breath. The artist licked at Trott’s lips, pulling the bottom lip between his teeth. Weaving his fingers in with Smith’s, Trott let Ross deepen their kiss, his stomach twisting as Ross put his other hand under Trott’s Henley. His hand was warmer than the skin on his hip and Trott pressed fully into the space between Ross and Smith’s legs. It was awkward, with the malleable integrity of the folding chair and with Ross half reclined; Trott let out a frustrated growl.

“Fuck this,” Smith said, standing from the chair and kicking it back unceremoniously. Trott and Ross caught themselves as Smith moved away from them. The fire watch frantically snatched the blanket from the trip to the river and cast it sloppily over the ground near the three of them. Ross pulled Trott back into a kiss, now on his knees too. Trott moaned when Ross pulled the ranger flush against his body, the outline of the artist’s erection pressing against his own. Ross cupped the curve of Trott’s ass and grasped at his neck.

Trott breathed through his nose, the fog in his mind from his arousal causing waves of pleasure and worry. Everything was muggy and hot, and Trott tried to find something sharp or cold to fasten onto. He pulled away from Ross, breathing in the cool air. Ross turned his attention to Trott’s neck, trailing his tongue and lips across the lines of his neck.

There was a hand on Trott’s shoulder, and he looked to see Smith standing to their side. Smith’s hand cupped Trott’s chin, running his thumb over the ranger’s lips. Trott’s tongue flicked at the fire watch’s thumb and Smith exhaled. Trott opened his mouth slightly, but it was enough to encourage Smith. Trott licked the pad of Smith’s thumb, only closing his lips around it when Smith gripped Trott’s chin with his fingers again. The ranger suckled and licked at Smith’s thumb, not breaking eye contact as Ross sucked and bit at the ranger’s collarbone.

The artist pulled aside the Henley's unbuttoned collar and moved his focus to Trott’s chest. Trott only took a sharp breath as Ross’ lips gingerly found his scar. It sent Trott somewhere else for a moment, but he quickly grounded against the warm form of Ross and Smith’s hard grip. Ross moved from his scar and Trott found himself struggling to breathe. He grabbed at Smith’s shirt and opened his mouth. Smith let his thumb rest on Trott’s tongue for a moment before he pulled away. Wiping his hand on his thigh, Smith hovered near Trott and Ross, waiting.

“Come here,” Trott sighed, tugging on the hem of Smith’s shirt. Trott’s hand trailed up Smith’s torso as the fire watch kneeled. Ross nipped at Trott’s ear, but looked to Smith when he sat back on his heels.

“You wanna watch you kinky sod?” Ross asked from the nape of Trott’s neck. The fire watch only nodded and it sent a chill through Trott. Ross traced his nose along Trott’s neck and cheek before whispering in Trott’s ear. “I’m at your command, ranger.” Ross leaned back, keeping their waists close. He was flushed, his hair tousled wildly. Trott looked from Ross to Smith, and then again to the artist. He gripped the front of Ross’ sweatshirt near the collar and pressed heavily against him. Ross groaned, snaking his arms around Trott’s waist and shoulders. Trott pulled the artist against him, and slowly slinking from his knees, to sitting on his heels. Ross leaned over him, following Trott’s lead as he reclined back.

Ross straddled one of Trott’s leg, the artist’s knee pressing high against his inner thigh. He let one leg fold against Trott’s outer hip and the other stretch from Trott’s crotch to his ankle. Ross’ weight was mostly on his folded leg and an elbow as he perched over Trott. The ranger struggled to calm down as Ross hunched over him, closing him off from any escapes, but Trott made himself slow down and breathe. He beckoned Smith closer.

“Lay down Smith,” Trott said between kisses. Trott closed his eyes as Ross ran his hand down Trott’s side, but the ranger heard Smith move around. The heat of him laying beside them was undeniable. Ross sucked behind Trott’s ear and the ranger pushed the artist away. “You know the rule,” he whined, looking to Ross, who had a mischievous smile.

“Oh yes, of course Trott. Nothing above the collar, scout’s honor.” The artist wasted no time fixing his course of action, unbuttoning Trott’s shirt more, and nipping and sucking at Trott’s chest. Trott looked to Smith, who only laid on his side, watching Ross and Trott. His lips were parted, his eyes fixed on Ross. Trott gasped as Ross fidgeting his perch over Trott, dragging his hips against Trott’s. The white-hot strike of pleasure made Trott thump his head against the earth, gripping into Ross’ hair. Trott cupped Ross’ chin, pulling him away from his work on Trott’s chest.

“I think Smith needs some attention,” Trott said, his voice low. He needed a minute to breathe, and Ross seemed to understand that. He unraveled himself from Trott and the ranger was encased in the cold night air. It brought a level of clarity to Trott that he needed and he let himself even his breathing before looking over to Ross and Smith. Smith was full on straddling Ross, leaning back as Ross rubbing and scratched at his stomach and thighs. Smith’s pants were unbuttoned and Ross had hitched up his long shirt, exposing Smith’s underwear clad hard-on. Smith leaned down quickly and Ross gripped at Smith’s hair, pulling his head back. Smith shifted his hips and the both of them groaned loudly into the night. Ross brought his knees up a bit, causing Smith to rock into Ross, gripping at the artist’s sweatshirt before crashing their mouths together.

Trott was very glad he was watching them, he decided. Even with the push and pull of his anxiety, Trott could feel the building of his arousal coming to a head. The cold air helped edge off the anxiety, but it made Trott realize how hard he was. Trott was torn, wanting to partake but knowing the fear would get worse before it got better. He rested his hand on Ross’ side as the two kissed, letting himself just enjoy the moment.

Ross gripped his hands on Smith’s hips, urging Smith to grind against him. Smith had one hand cupped around Ross’ throat and one propping him up. Ross moaned as Smith moved his hips fluidly against the artist. Ross moved his hand from Smith’s hip to the hand on his throat. Ross looked through heavy eyelids at Smith and squeezed Smith’s hand. Smith smiled and sunk his hips lower, using his knees more. The center of gravity moved from his ass more to Smith’s hands and Ross groaned softly. Trott sucked in his breath as Smith leaned down to kiss Ross, tightening his grip on the artist’s throat. Ross’ eyebrows were knit together, but he silently moaned as Smith hurried his pace.

It took Trott a moment to realize that Ross was close, watching Ross grow still. Smith leaned back and Ross’ eyes were open again, his lips parted. His chest was still, but he rocked his hips with Smith’s. The artist made a low noise, his nostrils flaring and Smith released his grip on Ross. The artist sucked in a deep breath and Smith slowed his hips, Ross’ hands trying to get the fire watch to still. Ross rolled his head back, groaning into the night, his chest quickly raising and falling. Smith leaned back, rubbing Ross’ chest and thighs as he regained his composure. The fire watch winked at Trott, who shyly smiled back.

“Holy God Smith,” Ross sighed, his eyes barely opened. Smith ground his hips again and Ross straightened flat to escape the sensation. Smith mischievously rolled them again and blocked Ross’ frantic slaps. “Fucking let me enjoy this you asshole,” Ross tiredly whined, tilting his hips so Smith would get up. Smith crawled off, laying flat between Trott and Ross. Smith kissed Ross’ fingers and knuckles, but looked over to Trott.

“You really don’t behave,” Trott chuckled, his voice catching in his throat. Smith smiled cockily, palming at his erection.

“It’s more fun that way,” he said. Smith reached to Trott, resting his hand on the ranger’s hip, pulling him closer. “Not gonna ticket me, are you ranger?” Trott rolled his eyes, but leaned down to kiss Smith. His hand rested on the fire watch’s chest, the other propping up his shoulder.

“I’ll let you get away with it this time I suppose.” Smith cupped his hand the back of Trott’s head and he smiled around the kiss.

“Promise to cuff me next time?” Trott laughed and pulled away from Smith.

“You really are a kinky sod.”

“I fucking told you,” Ross interjected as he curled against Smith's back.

“I’m not the one who likes to get choked.”

“I highly doubt that, you just never let me try.”

“That’s because you always come first.”

“I’m a sensitive man!” The three of them laughed, the campfire barely flickering heat into the cold winter night.

It only took Ross another half hour before he peeled himself up from the forest floor where the three of them curled up together. Ross changed his boxer briefs, palming at his crotch with his wet underwear. Smith helped him climb into the top hammock, pecking a good night kiss on his forehead and tucking the blanket into the shell. Trott stood, bringing the blanket around his shoulders as he poured water over the embers of their fire. Smith wrapped his arms around Trott, bringing the ranger close to his chest and planting kisses behind his ear.

“Are you tired or do you want to stay up?” Smith asked, resting his chin on Trott’s shoulder. Trott nuzzled Smith’s face, closing his eyes as he absorbed Smith’s body heat.

“Are you sleepy?” the ranger asked. He turned in Smith’s arms, bringing his hands to Smith’s chest. Trott was tired from the day, but knew they would have to leave mid-day tomorrow. A small part of Trott was ready for work to start again, but most of him didn’t want to give up the freedom being out here. Smith rested his hands on Trott’s lower back, pressing their fronts close.

“I’m down for whatever as long as I get to do it with you,” Smith replied, leaning down to kiss Trott. It was sweet and soft, the intensity of earlier gone. Trott smiled and rested his head in the nape of Smith’s neck. The fire watch rested his face into Trott’s hair and Smith just started to sway. He hummed softly, holding Trott close and slowly spinning and swaying. Trott listened to the rumble of his voice and let Smith pivot him around, smiling stupidly under Smith’s chin. This gentle giant side to Smith was probably the most surprising treat to Trott when it first started. The piggy backs, the dancing, and cheesy comments - each was part of this side of Smith which he seemed to save for Trott and Ross. It made the ranger feel special and he reveled in the affectionate attention.

“Going back tomorrow is going to suck,” Trott whispered, the thought unable to leave his mind. Smith continued to sway but stayed quiet for a moment.

“Why?”

“We can’t do this -” Trott motioned to the campfire, where they had laid on the ground, to the hammocks -“back at the Park.”

“I really don’t see why not.” Trott pouted his lips and rested his head back on Smith’s chest. “It’s not like Lewis would make a big deal about it, and like, no one else can tell me what to do.”

“I mostly meant how I am,” Trott clarified carefully.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” Smith whispered, bring his hand into Trott’s hair, playing with the short sides and back. “I am glad we came out here, but it’s not very different from how we are at the cottage or in your cabin.” Trott looked up at Smith, only barely able to see the silhouette of his jaw and hair in the dark.

“Really?” Smith kissed the ranger’s forehead.

“I mean it Trott. You are just a bit more willing to play along out here,” Smith said as his other hand grabbed Trott’s. He brought the knuckles to his lips, fluttering them with kisses. “I know you think the world is watching and waiting for you to mess up Trott, but fuck all that.” Trott brought it to his face, mulling over the words.

“I really wish it was that easy for me.”

“Well until then, I’ll just have to stick around so I can kick some ass,” Smith said, smiling and kissing Trott’s cheek. Trott chuckled softly and leaned into Smith more, wrapping his arms around Smith’s waist.

“You’re going to get arrested one day.”

“Hopefully by you so I can check ‘fucked by a hot officer’ off my bucket list.” Trott laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

“Careful what you wish for.”

 

Trott waited until Smith was sprawled in the twin hammock before he clambered in. Smith laid on his back, holding the sets of blankets up as Trott weaseled in beside him. Even though Trott had only snuck away for a moment to pee, the air was cold now that the sun had gone down. He had checked on Ross, who was sleeping soundly under the pile of blankets. He was warm to the touch and that was good enough for Trott as he retreated from the cold night. Smith was hot and Trott sapped his body heat, squirreling his cold hands under Smith’s shirt despite his protests. Smith and Trott wrestled over the inch around his waistband, Smith biting back yells and grabbing at Trott’s wrists.

“I will dunk you in the river, I swear to fucking god Trott,” the fire watch threatened, sucking in air as Trott’s hands found new skin.

“The sooner you let my hands warm up, the sooner this will be over,” Trott giggled, trying to nuzzle Smith’s arms to free his hands. Smith managed to grapple Trott’s hands behind the ranger’s back and leaned heavily onto him. Trott squealed as the hammock tilted, but Smith balanced it out with his legs. The two of them laughed softly as they resituated closer to the center of gravity, both hesitant to let the other’s hands out of sight for too long.

“Are you going to behave ranger?” Smith asked, slowly pulling his hands back from Trott’s. He rested with one arm tucked under his head and the other stretched to the edge of the hammock.

“For now,” Trott teased, leaning into Smith’s side, his hands delicately prancing on top of the blanket towards his stomach and side. The ranger nuzzled into Smith’s chest and they let the quiet of the forest fill the space around them. Trott listened to the steady beat of Smith’s heart and enjoyed the warmth and security. Smith caressed Trott’s hair wordlessly and the ranger could feel the lull of sleep approaching.

“Chris?” The ranger hummed, looking up at the fire watch. He curled his fingers around Smith’s side, nudging Smith when he didn’t continue.

“What’s up?” Trott could tell Smith was looking down at him, the dim reflection of the moon caught in his eyes. Smith brushed Trott’s hair out of his face, resting the palm at the ranger’s temple.

“I hope I make you as happy as you make me,” Smith continued after a minute, his voice low. Trott could feel the statement, shaking him as he laid on Smith. Trott smiled and rested his head on Smith’s shoulder, squeezing Smith’s center.

“Happier,” Trott said, a flutter in his chest. Smith huffed but Trott could feel the smile as Smith kissed the top of his head. Trott kissed at Smith’s shoulder, rubbing along his ribs gently. “You’re such a smooth talker,” Trott teased.

“It makes up for my horrendously offensive sense of humor,” Smith said, the sweet tinge of sarcasm in his voice. Trott smiled and nodded regardless. “Don’t agree to that!” Smith said, shrugging the shoulder with Trott’s head resting on it. Trott laughed but leaned up to catch Smith on the lips. Smith’s ire seemed to fade away with the kiss, and he brought his arm down and scoped Trott up and into it. Trott brought his hand to the fire watch’s cheek, caressing his thumb along Smith’s temple.

They kissed slowly but Trott could feel the weight in his stomach start to grow. He draped a leg over Smith’s waist, hitching himself up to deepen the kiss. The fire watch groaned, dragging his nails lightly across the back of Trott’s scalp. Trott ran his hand over Smith’s chest, being sure to flick at Smith’s nipple as he passed over it. Smith took a breath in and Trott used the moment to lick at Smith’s lips. Smith hooked his hand around Trott’s knee and twisted into Trott. The ranger gasped at the friction on his crotch, pulling away from Smith’s mouth. Smith nibbled at Trott’s ear lobe and kissed his neck, trailing his hand up and down the ranger’s thigh. “Are you okay with this?” Smith asked raggedly, pausing for a moment.

“Oh, now you want to behave,” Trott teased breathlessly, but leaned in to kiss Smith again. “Yes, I’m definitely okay with this.” Trott ran his hand from Smith’s chest to his waist where his own leg rested. “Are you okay with this?” Smith brought his hand to cup at Trott’s ass and twisted so he and Trott were laying face to face. Trott brought his leg higher, resting more at Smith’s waist than his hip and Smith nudging his leg betweens Trott’s.

The shell of the hammock brought them close to each other as they rested along its median. The sides were tall and it cut off the sounds of the forest and the soft breeze. It was warm and quiet in here with Smith, the sound of their kissing and of Smith’s hand running along Trott’s pants filling the void. Without the breeze and the dark night, Trott fixated on the hot touch of Smith’s hand, the softness of his lips, and the pressure of his thigh on the bottom of Trott’s cock.

“Breathe babe,” Smith cooed softly, bringing his hand to Trott’s face. The ranger took a deep breath and Smith curled his hand around the edge of the hammock shell, pulling down the side a bit to let some cool air in.

“I’m good,” Trott said, trying to rush past this moment of weakness. He tried to kiss Smith, but Smith leaned away from him.

“I want to do this, but I want to do it right Trott.” Smith kissed Trott’s face as Trott stewed. “I don’t want to hurt you, so if I have to make sure you get some fresh air, I will.” Trott reached past Smith, pulling down the shell on the other side.

“I can do it too,” Trott retorted. “You don’t have to baby me.” Smith tutted, but sighed and rested his head on Trott’s.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” Smith let go of his side of the hammock and brought that hand to Trott’s face. It was cold and brought Trott back from his frustration. Trott sighed but kissed Smith softly.

“It’s okay, I just got testy.” Trott wiggled into Smith more, bringing his hand arm around Smith’s shoulders. “How about I take breaks when I need them and you can comfort me all you want and I won’t be such a bad sport about it?”

“Can I use a wittle baby voice?” Smith asked, slipping into a tiny little voice at the end.

“If you want my boner to die, then sure,” Trott replied, earning him a laugh from the fire watch. Smith kissed him, rubbing the ranger’s side and gripping at Trott’s hip.

“I quite like your hard-on so maybe next time,” Smith whispered, pulling their hips together. The friction brought a small noise out of Trott and the ranger kissed at Smith’s mouth and jaw. The conversation had brought a small ebb in the moment, but Smith made up for it in eagerness as he mouthed at Trott’s throat. The fire watch hitched up Trott’s shirt, bunching it at Trott’s neck as Smith leaned down to add small marks next to Ross’. Smith alternated between ghosting his fingers along and scratching lightly on Trott’s ribs, leaving a shadow of goosebumps.

Trott took the moment to pushed at the hammock’s shell and let in some cold air. The heat of Smith’s mouth and hands shot directly to Trott’s gut and his mind was hazy with pleasure. He run his other hand through Smith’s hair, scratching his scalp and tugging on the fire watch’s hair when Smith bit down. Trott rubbed his crotch along Smith’s thigh, moving his hips in waves. The ranger whimpered and moaned, gripping on Smith’s neck as he wound himself up on Smith. 

“Can I push your pants down?” Smith asked, breathlessly. Trott reached down to push at the hem of his pants and Smith’s hands did the same. Smith slowly pushed the fabric from around the ranger’s waist to under the mound of his ass. Smith buried his face into Trott’s neck as he cupped Trott ass and pulled their pelvises together. They groaned as they slowly pushed against each other. Trott delved his hands under Smith’s shirt, sliding his fingers into the waistband of the fire watch’s underwear.

“Who wears jeans to bed?” Trott teased against Smith’s temple.

“You want me to take them off?” Trott moved his hands from the waistband to Smith’s pelvis, making sure to nudge and prod Smith’s erection as he undid Smith’s jeans. The ranger slowly undid the zipper and pushed aside the fabric. Trott grazed his knuckles along Smith’s length, eliciting small profanities from him.

“Yes.” Trott took the moment Smith fussed with his jeans to take a small breather, letting his free hand roam Smith’s chest, arms, and stomach. Smith tossed the jeans over the side of the hammock, turning back to face Trott. He was hot to the touch and Trott knew the fire watch would be pink in the chest and cheeks. Everything Smith did was so visceral and tangible, wearing the evidence of his feelings all over himself. The immediate feedback fueled Trott’s confidence, especially now, pressed up against him with very few layers between them.

“I _really_ would like to touch your cock Chris,” Smith said and Trott’s breath caught in his throat. Trott grabbed Smith’s wrist and slowly brought their hands to where their crotches touched. The ranger kissed Smith when they finally touched Trott’s hard-on, sending a chill through his body. When Trott let go of Smith’s wrist, the fire watch palmed at its length, cupping his balls softly. Trott moaned loudly, his hand fluttering around Smith’s crotch, distracted by his own arousal. Trott rested his head on Smith’s shoulder, breathing quickly as Smith rubbed his crotch mercilessly slow. Trott hitched his hips into Smith’s hands and groaned into his shoulder.

“I’m… I’m not going to last long,” Trott shyly whispered, already feeling the tightness in his stomach. The fire watch kissed at Trott’s cheek and temple.

“Good, means you like it,” Smith replied, his voice low and his breath hot. Smith brought his hand to Trott’s chin, pulling it so Trott looked at him. “Can I make you cum?” Trott swallowed hard, nodding and leaning into Smith. Smith’s hand moved to the side of Trott’s jaw and they kissed softly as Smith fulling enveloped his hand around Trott’s cock. Smith used Trott’s moan as a moment to lick at Trott’s lower lip and Trott hungrily kissed him back. Trott buried one hand into Smith’s hair, gently pulling as his breath hitched. The ranger’s other hand grasped and pinched at Smith’s nipple, earning him moans and small sounds as the fire watch pleasured Trott.

Smith paused momentarily and Trott breathed heavily as Smith looked down at their waists. The edges of his mind were fuzzy and Trott could only think of the world inside of the hammock. Trott could feel Smith’s chest muscle flex under his hand, as Smith fretted at something Trott couldn’t see. Trott whined softly beside Smith, his arousal taunting him as his erection pressed into Smith’s thigh. Smith kissed Trott’s face again and Trott turned back into it to keep the buzz going. Smith pulled at the fabric of Trott’s underwear. Smith was sure to not touch Trott’s cock more than he had to and left it alone once he freed Trott’s cock from his boxer briefs. Trott whined, but Smith didn’t return to his erection for another few seconds.

The pressure at his cock made him groan again, but it was different. Smith shifted his hips and Trott felt the long drag of Smith’s hot erection along his. The fire watch’s one hand grabbed at Trott’s ass to bringing him up more and the other cupped around their erections. Trott felt Smith’s fingers press against his asshole and Trott moaned around Smith’s kiss. The pressure was well missed and Trott tried not to cum on the spot. Trott pulled at the hammock’s shell and Smith stilled his hands. The ranger felt like he was vibrating, his skin on fire, and his lungs empty of air. Smith kissed at Trott’s temple as Trott raised his head to get more air.

“I’m okay,” Trott said, anticipating the question. After a moment, he kissed Smith’s cheek, letting go of the shell and laying his head back onto their pillow. Trott shyly ground his hips into Smith’s, breathing out slowly as the friction ached into his body. As he drew back, he could feel the pressure of Smith’s fingers again at his hole. He oscillated between friction and pressure, Smith’s mouth groaning and kissing at Trott’s ear and neck.

Trott grabbed at Smith’s hips and pulled them as he sunk their hips together and they moaned together. Smith’s hand worked Trott’s cock as his other hand started to circle his rim. Trott brought his hands to Smith’s shoulders, using the leverage to increase their pace. As Trott’s climax closed in, his breath became rugged and his hips hitched erratically. There were times where Trott couldn’t tell the difference between his eyes being opened and closed, so Trott focused on Smith, his sounds, his heat, the taste of his lips and sweaty skin. Trott came with a quiet shutter and sighing Smith’s name into his ear, riding out his orgasm as he ground against Smith.

Trott closed his eyes and leaned away from Smith, dragging the hammock side down again. Smith wiggled around, careful to not rustle the hammock and Trott’s crotch too much. The ranger breathed heavily as the warm buzz of his orgasm faded out and the cool air washed away the stank of sweat and hormones. He gasped as Smith patted at their crotches with fabric, looking down to see Smith using his shirt to clean up his mess. With post-orgasm confidence, Trott reached down to Smith’s crotch to find the fire watch still hard. “I can fix this,” Trott teased, mouthing at Smith’s bare shoulders and chest. Smith laughed, tossing his shirt with his jeans and pulling the blanket from their knees up to his chest.

“No babe,” Smith said, pulling Trott’s hand from his waist to his chest. Trott paused, the feeling of dread starting to seep into his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Trott replied automatically. Smith kissed at Trott’s temple, snuggling into him. He didn’t seem mad, Trott thought, cautiously nuzzling the fire watch back.

“No apologies Trott,” Smith whisper, pulling Trott’s shirt down from his chest and pulling the blanket to their chins. “I wanted to make sure you felt good, I don’t need to cum.” Smith kissed Trott softly. The fire watch was warm despite having only socks and his underwear on. Trott let himself cuddle into Smith, forcing the worry from his mind. They laid there quietly, not bothering to fix their position along the hammock. Smith rubbed Trott’s back and played with his hair. Between the tenderness of the moment and the glow of his orgasm, it was hard for Trott to fight sleep. “Love you Chris,” Smith whispered. Trott wished he would see Smith’s face, but he kissed the fire watch regardless.

“Love you Alex.”

“Love you Ross.”

“Love you Smith,” a small voice said. “Love you Trott.”

“Love you Ross,” Trott said with a smile. “Love you fuckers so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a journey, a great learning and cathartic piece for me. I love my Park and all of the adventures, both in the story and the unsaid adventures. Thanks for all the love and I hope you've enjoyed it!


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